


when it rains (it pours)

by enpleurs



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, still not a college au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enpleurs/pseuds/enpleurs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Sungyeol sees Woohyun, the latter is at the front of the classroom, the first day of his Introductory Macroeconomics class. Way too young to be a professor, kind of cute, especially with those glasses—but then Sungyeol discovers, loudly, that Woohyun isn’t even a year older than him.</p><p>Him and Woohyun, they didn't quite get along.</p><p>But this is years of history later, and it'd been easy to say, I get it, we're just friends. It's a little harder to pick up the pieces, but that doesn't mean they don't want to try.</p><p>Alternatively: In which Sungyeol has a bad temper and Woohyun takes things to heart—so does Sungyeol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when it rains (it pours)

It’s the unmistakable smell of flour and butter that greets him as he slips into wakefulness. His outstretched arm hits conspicuously empty space, and the blanket is cold when he slides his arm upwards. He remembers waking earlier in a sleep haze, but it’d been dark and gray outside and Sungyeol had been pulled back down under the blankets, told to go back to sleep. It’s still early, early enough that his weekend alarm has yet to go off. 

He lies there for a few more minutes, awake, toeing the boundary of a new day. It’s tempting to burrow under the covers, but it’s not something he can put off forever, and eventually he does crawl to the edge of the bed and swings himself upright. The blood rushes from his head, and he groans as he stands, vision temporarily black. The carpet is soft against his bare feet as he shuffles to the kitchen—the tile there is a cool shock. 

He’s awake. 

"What are you doing?" Sungyeol grumbles. He leans against the wall, rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

Woohyun turns from the stove, spatula still in hand. He’s there as if he belongs, as if it’s normal for him to fit into this picture, at Sungyeol’s stove, in Sungyeol’s kitchen. He breaks into that annoying shit eating grin when he sees Sungyeol standing there. 

"Making breakfast, obviously," he says. 

Obviously. There’s a plate stacked with pancakes, and batter still in the mixing bowl. Woohyun’s gone back to ignoring him, focussing his attention towards the stove. Sungyeol grimaces at his back for a good second. 

"Who asked you to do that?" he snaps. He reaches around around Woohyun for the dishcloth, aggressively wiping the thin patches of flour that’ve spilled on the counter. 

"Well look who’s a ray of sunshine," Woohyun hums. 

Sungyeol’s rolled out of bed and he’s still wearing what he’d slept in, and it’s a stark difference next to Woohyun, fully dressed, button down shirt and neat jeans and socks and all. He flips the pancake, one sharp movement of his wrist, and Sungyeol mentally curses him for being able to do everything so god damned perfectly. 

"I’ll make coffee." It’s one smell that’s conspicuously missing, one gap that he can fill. 

Woohyun makes a sound that's probably agreement, or maybe even some sort of thanks. 

"And why pancakes?" Sungyeol adds. There’s a faint hint of desperation rising inside him, and it makes no sense, and he pushes it back down. "We could’ve just had cereal, I don’t—" 

"You can have cereal again if you don’t want it," Woohyun says. He grins cheekily at him, the one that borders a smirk, and slides the last one onto the plate. 

"God, this makes it feel like we’re boyfriends or something," Sungyeol says, and for a brief moment, the smile slips from Woohyun’s face. 

Woohyun doesn’t take the bait—what bait?—only reaches for more plates. 

They settle down for breakfast in near silence, Sungyeol carrying the coffee, Woohyun bringing the food. His hair is pushed back from his face, and it’s a soft brown, and he looks less young. The food is good, like always, and Sungyeol shovels it into his mouth, while Woohyun cuts it into neat pieces, eating methodically. 

He kicks Woohyun under the table, and Woohyun’s eyes flicker up in surprise. 

"What was that for?" he says. 

"For being annoying," Sungyeol says. 

"Wow, look who’s talking." Woohyun scoffs, and kicks him back—only it has no heat in it, and ends with Woohyun sliding his socked foot up Sungyeol’s shin. Woohyun’s eyes are steady, and Sungyeol jerks his leg away, and Sungyeol buries his face in his coffee. 

"Well," Woohyun says, scraping back his chair. His plate is empty. "I better be going. I cooked, so you get the dishes." 

"I knew I’d be cleaning up your mess," Sungyeol says. 

Woohyun laughs, loud and obnoxious as always. 

"Don’t miss me too much," he says, as he heads for the door. 

Sungyeol stands as well. It doesn’t feel right, Woohyun letting himself out like that, even if he has before, and even if he could. He watches as Woohyun grabs his bag, his coat, his new scarf, Sungyeol hovering as Woohyun puts on his shoes. 

"See you later," Sungyeol says, as Woohyun opens the door. 

"Yeah." 

Sungyeol isn’t thinking—Sungyeol pushes the door shut, before it’s barely had a chance to click open. 

Woohyun’s mouth opens in surprise. Sungyeol grabs Woohyun by the shirt, pulling him close, crushing their mouths together. His things fall to the floor with a quiet thump. 

Sungyeol’s tongue slips between Woohyun’s parted lips, and he catches his lip between tongue and teeth. His other hand slides up Woohyun’s back, cupping the back of Woohyun’s neck. Woohyun’s mouth is hot against his, and his body is hot against him. The heat floods his body, floods his mind. There’s the unmistakable bulge pressing against his thigh, as Woohyun slowly regains his senses and kisses him back. Sungyeol moans into his mouth, and the door is far from soundproof, but he doesn’t care. 

Woohyun’s lips are wet and slick when Sungyeol draws back just enough to take a deep breath, and this time, he uses a bit more teeth than necessary, and there’s a quiet hiss as Woohyun pulls away. His face is flushed—Sungyeol’s own chest is tight, his head dizzying with a need for air. 

Woohyun fingers dig into Sungyeol’s shoulder, and in a flash, he turns their positions, pushing Sungyeol against the door, his back thudding hard against it. Woohyun says nothing, but he doesn’t need to, just kisses Sungyeol hungrily. Sungyeol whines, grinding up against Woohyun with need. 

Sungyeol’s body is flushed with heat, and Woohyun’s tongue is in his mouth, exploring it as if he’s never done this before. One of his hands slip under Sungyeol’s tank, and it’s pressed between them, palm against his chest. Woohyun smells of shampoo and the faded scent of detergent. He holds Sungyeol down, even as Sungyeol tries to pull away for air. 

His fingers bruise against Sungyeol’s skin, and Sungyeol shoves, really shoves, gasping. 

Woohyun’s eyes are sharp. 

He’s breathing hard too, his chest rises and falls as fast as his heart is beating, and his lips are red and wet. 

And then Woohyun’s mouth is hot against his skin. 

"Ahh—" 

The heat of pleasure shoots through Sungyeol, Woohyun sucking at the side of his neck, his mouth a tight seal, and fuck, he bares his neck, fuck, he feels like he could come right now, just from Woohyun’s mouth, like this—It’s a good thing Woohyun’s so much shorter than him—the thought flits through his mind, but then Woohyun’s kissing down the line of his jaw, and Sungyeol grasps at the back of Woohyun’s shirt, fabric bunching between his fingers. His tongue flickers against his skin, and then his mouth is at the crook of his neck, and god, fuck, it feels so good and Sungyeol already knows it’s going to leave a mark, and it’s hot, hot, hot and Sungyeol clings to him, knowing he’s whining, knowing the sounds that slip out of his open mouth are as incoherent as sounds can be, but he knows that it’s filled with as much need as he feels. Woohyun’s palm still pins Sungyeol against the door, and Sungyeol grounds himself in that. 

"I…" 

"Mmm," Woohyun hums. It rings against Sungyeol’s skin, and then there’s teeth closing around it—and then his hand has slipped beneath the elastic of Sungyeol’s shorts, fingers brushing against the head of Sungyeol’s cock through his underwear. 

His world explodes. He buries his face against Woohyun’s shoulder, cries muffled in his shirt. Fuck, it isn’t that he’s missed this, it’s that—everything narrows down to Woohyun’s fingers playing against him, and his senses are flooded with the sensation of touch, and each moment sends sharp shockwaves through his bones. 

Sungyeol comes down with a quiet moan, his muscles falling slack, as he wraps his arms around Woohyun’s chest. 

Woohyun steps away, and Sungyeol nearly falls. 

"Have a good day," Woohyun says. 

His hair is mussed, falling over his eyes, his shirt rumpled and untucked. 

Sungyeol presses a hand against his neck, and watches him go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s raining, in that incessant way it does, every other year in the join between winter and spring, spring and summer. Sungyeol wanders between the windows and his desk, willing it to lighten, half heartedly doing work in the meantime. It’s wet and gray and nearing six. The office is far from empty, but Sungyeol prefers to come in early to avoid the morning rush. The city, through the rain speckled windows, is muted, some six floors below. It’s also a steady stream of black umbrellas, sweeping towards the entrance of the underground pathway. The office itself is its usual gray cubicle walls and ugly purple-green carpet, and it seems to match the mood outside. He catches more than a few screens with discreetly open windows of Youtube and Facebook; he makes scoffing faces at the backs of the owners, faking being hard at work. Well, it’s not like he’s never been guilty of the same. He drops back into his seat, kicking at the edge of the desk in frustration. There’s a noise of irritation on the other side of the divider, and Sungyeol says a sheepish sorry. 

His phone lights up with a text. 

`wanna come over?`

It sits in his hand for a moment, and then Sungyeol drops it as if it burns. 

It sits on the table for a moment, the screen flickering black but the notification light blinking like an accusation. Sungyeol picks it up. 

`no` he shoots back. 

`pity :(` The reply comes almost immediately. Sungyeol’s ready to send a suitably scathing text back when another message pops up again. 

`sure? kibum’s gonna be here too. just to chill.`

The thing about friendships was that it was easier to break them than it was to pick them back up. _We won’t be alone_ , is what Woohyun means. _It won’t be like last time. The last few times._

Chance meetings, and it’s impossible to pretend not to know each other, and it’s maybe more impossible to pretend they don’t want to try, to cobble back together something that resembles friendship. Icy silences, a dance between two people eager to avoid the other, but equally eager to attempt it, like the adults they were instead of the kids they’d been. That Sungyeol had been. 

Sungyeol shoves his phone into his bag. The rain doesn’t seem like it’ll be ending any time soon. It’s not like he’s in any hurry to get home—it’s nice, living alone, but sometimes it’s a little quiet, a little empty. Maybe he should get a dog. He keeps thinking about that. 

Woohyun lives two subway stops away, the awkward distance where he should walk, but at the same time, just far enough that it could be justified, especially when he has a monthly pass, and there’s no point in not using it. It’s raining, but maybe it’s better that way. 

"I thought you weren’t coming?" Woohyun says. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes, once the brief flash of surprise has melted into his signature smile. 

"Has anyone told you you’re insufferable lately?" Sungyeol asks. Woohyun takes his umbrella and the beer, and Sungyeol shoves past him, kicking his shoes off into the tangled pile, the ankles of his pants uncomfortably wet from where the umbrella was no help. 

"Look who’s talking," Woohyun laughs. 

It’s a nice apartment, and a familiar one, all sleek and wooden floors and modern. The kitchen’s a little on the small side, but that just means a bigger living room. Sungyeol rakes his eyes over everything that hasn’t changed, the large TV, the fold out couch, Sunggyu’s laptop under the coffee table, displaced by a large bowl of chips, a mix of ketchup and regular. The door to the bathroom is next to the kitchen, and next to Woohyun’s room. It’s a little smaller than Sunggyu’s master bedroom, but still big enough for a full sized bed and a desk. The door’s half open, but the lights are off. Sunggyu and Dongwoo have settled themselves on the floor, and are beating the shit out of each other on Sunggyu’s old N64, and Kibum is there, as promised, perched on the side of the couch and cheering them both on. 

"Glad you could show up," Kibum says. 

Dongwoo turns to shoot him a happy grin, but then Sunggyu combos him and he’s back to the screen, shocked that Sunggyu was playing dirty. 

"Who’s winning?" Sungyeol asks. He throws himself onto the couch next to Kibum, grabbing a handful of chips and shoving them into his mouth. Woohyun is putting the beer Sungyeol had brought into the fridge. 

"Three to two," Kibum says, just as Sunggyu ends it with a final attack, and Dongwoo’s character flies off the stage. Kibum raises his eyebrows. "Four to two," he amends. Dongwoo whines over losing in the background, head thrown back as he laughs. 

"Anyone want to take over?" Dongwoo leans back, offering the controller. 

Kibum takes it, and slides down to where Dongwoo had been sitting. Dongwoo greets Sungyeol warmly, before literally skipping off to the kitchen to help Woohyun with whatever it was he was doing. 

"Long time no see," Sunggyu says. "When’s the last time you were here?" 

"I knew you’d missed me," Sungyeol says, making a heart with his hands. 

"Woohyun’s rubbing off on you," Sunggyu says. Kibum’s done selecting his character, and they both hit start. 

Sungyeol watches two rounds, and it’s anyone’s guess as to which of them are the loudest, Sungyeol included, before Woohyun interrupts them. He leans forward against Sungyeol, arms dangling over his shoulders, like he always (had always) does. 

"Hate to interrupt," he says cheerily, in a matter that says he doesn’t at all, "but any pizza requests?" 

"Meat," Sungyeol says. He shrugs Woohyun off, but Woohyun clings like a leech. 

"Hawaiian," Kibum tosses out, furiously mashing buttons. 

"And cheese as usual? Got it," Woohyun says. He finally pulls away, his touch still searing against Sungyeol’s skin. 

"Should we switch to Smash after this round?" Dongwoo suggests. "Since there’s more of us here now." 

"Extra controllers in my room!" Woohyun calls out, holding the phone away from his face for a brief moment. 

"I’ll go get it," Sungyeol says, already jumping over the back of the couch. He runs into the open door on the right, then fumbles in the dark room for a moment for the switch. It takes a few seconds, but he finds it eventually. 

Sunggyu was right. It’s been a while since the last time he’s been over. 

Woohyun’s room hasn’t changed much, not that Sungyeol would’ve expected it to. Bed on the right, closet on the left, desk a little messier than it usually is, which means work’s probably been busy. He pulls open the closet. It’s where Woohyun keeps most of his things, the ones that don’t go anywhere else. 

He doesn’t notice, rummaging through the boxes, that there’s someone behind him until Woohyun’s hand is on his shoulder. 

"Fuck, you scared me," Sungyeol hisses. 

Woohyun presses his lips together, then joins Sungyeol in unearthing them from the bottom of the box. 

"Stay?" Woohyun asks. It’s quiet, and so petulant that Sungyeol nearly scoffs. 

"I’d better not," Sungyeol says. He stands, controller in hand, cable trailing behind him. Woohyun is still crouched down. There’s a sigh as he follows Sungyeol out into the living room, the other controller in his hand. 

Sungyeol should’ve left first, or second. Probably should’ve stood and gone when Kibum did, citing work tomorrow morning. He didn’t, though, and then it was just him, Sunggyu, and Woohyun. 

"Are you staying over?" Sunggyu asks. 

He didn’t know, Woohyun had told him once. 

"I probably shouldn’t," Sungyeol says. 

He’s had two and a half beers, the half because he’d stolen it from Woohyun. Alcohol tends to mellow him out, and it doesn’t take much. Myungsoo likes to jibe at him that he’s much better that way, much easier to deal with. 

"It’s still raining," Woohyun says, and it’s true. If anything, the rain’s gotten heavier. Then: "I’ve still got the sleeping bag." 

Sungyeol had used it once. Then Woohyun had said his bed was big enough, and it made more sense. It wouldn’t have been the first time, especially not since undergrad, too many people crowded into one room and empty bottles of alcohol stashed into trash bags they’ll take out in the morning, but. And. 

Woohyun, against the wall; Myungsoo, curled up against him; Sungyeol, sandwiched between them, too hot, and too aware of them both. 

Sungyeol, against the wall; Woohyun half on top of him. 

Woohyun— 

They’d been young. 

"I’m heading to bed," Sunggyu says. He stands, and nods at Sungyeol. 

"It’s not even eleven," Woohyun points out. "Someone’s getting old." 

Sunggyu glares at him, his narrow eyes all but disappearing. "I’m only two years older—and show some respect, kiddo." 

"Yes _hyung_ ," Woohyun says, at the same time Sungyeol laughs and says "whatever, grandpa." 

Sunggyu grumbles and disappears into the bathroom as Woohyun and Sungyeol high five each other, mumbling about disrespectful brats. 

"I do still have the sleeping bag," Woohyun says, after a moment. The silence has fallen back into the empty spaces, broken by the occasional sounds of running water. 

Sungyeol hesitates. It’s not even eleven, like Woohyun had said, and he doesn’t live that far from here, rain or no. Five subway stops and a fifteen minute walk, if the busses weren’t running by the time he got to his station. Not ideal, but he should. 

Should and did, though, were very different things. 

"Alright," he says. "But I’ll take the sleeping bag." 

Woohyun nods, and disappears to pull it out from under the bed. Sungyeol waits a beat, then trails into the room behind him. There’s a loose t-shirt and pair of shorts on the bed. 

"Unless you want to sleep in your work clothes," Woohyun says, when he notices Sungyeol. 

"I could’ve slept in no clothes," Sungyeol says. He regrets it immediately. He snatches up the clothes before Woohyun can say anything, and turns around to change. 

"Nothing I haven’t seen before," Woohyun murmurs from behind him. 

A flush of embarrassment cascades down his skin. 

He takes longer than he needs, unbuttoning his shirt, then pulling the t-shirt over his head faster than he usually does. When he turns around again, Woohyun is also changed. 

"Hyung’s out of the bathroom, if you want it first," Woohyun says. "Since you always complain I take too long." 

"Because you _do_ ," Sungyeol grumbles. 

"Your spare toothbrush is still in the cabinet!" Woohyun calls out from behind him. Sunyeol’s pulse skips a beat in surprise. 

It’s been months—but more than that, why hadn’t he thrown it out, already? 

"Is it still safe to use?" He shoots back. Sunggyu yells at them to keep it down through the closed door, and Sungyeol ignores him. 

Woohyun just laughs at them both. 

Woohyun does take forever, because he’d clean his face twice, then spend at least fifteen minutes gently patting in who knew what serums or lotions or whatever onto his face. Sungyeol had watched him once, perched on the seat of the toilet. He’d stalked off in frustration when it seemed like it’d never end. 

By the time Woohyun returns, hair damp from the shower and skin faintly glowing, Sungyeol has already rolled himself into the sleeping bag, his phone plugged into the wall with Woohyun’s stolen charger. 

"You’re sure?" Woohyun asks. His voice is quiet, soft. Uncertain. For a moment, Sungyeol wonders who else has seen him like this—who else’s made him like this. 

Sungyeol answers by burying himself deeper into the sleeping bag. 

He hears Woohyun sigh, and turn off the lights. 

Sungyeol wakes partway through the night—the rain has stopped, but through the half open blinds, the light of the city still glints from the lingering drops of water. He reaches blearily for his phone. In the pale blue glow of the screen, he sees Woohyun sleeping on the far side of the bed, the left side of the bed conspicuously empty. 

Sungyeol switches off his phone, and tugs the sleeping bag over his head.

 

 

 

The first time Sungyeol sees Woohyun, the latter is at the front of the classroom, the first day of his Introductory Macroeconomics class. Way too young to be a professor, kind of cute, especially with those glasses—but then Sungyeol discovers, loudly, that Woohyun isn’t even a year older than him. 

Some of the upper year students are less than pleased. 

Him and Woohyun, they didn't quite get along. 

(Sungyeol tends to pretend not to remember the end of that term, when they get into a yelling match in front of the entire class. He starts that one too.) 

The first time Sungyeol sees Woohyun as a person, not stuck up lecturer with a chip on his shoulder, is in line at the coffee shop near the library. He’s wearing a grey cardigan, hair falling over his eyes, and with the hallowed look of someone who hadn't slept in days. It’s midterms, and Sungyeol’s not surprised. He's staring at his phone, fingers listlessly tapping at the screen, a handful of change in his other hand. 

Sungyeol opens his mouth, a sharp comment on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't. He leans back against the glass wall, hands shoved into his pockets, and watches Woohyun place his order, handing the cashier the exact change he’d already picked out. A medium coffee, and bagel, toasted with butter. Sungyeol knows the drill. But it's when Woohyun turns, sliding his phone back into his pocket, and his eyes meet Sungyeol’s—for a split second, he freezes, and the line of tension running through his body is almost visible. 

Sungyeol opens his mouth, and then closes it, but then Woohyun breaks out into a grin and says: "are you stalking me?" 

"Who’d want to stalk _you_ ," Sungyeol snaps, and fuck that, he was an annoying piece of shit.

 

 

 

The office is nearly empty, the clock pushing seven. 

Some of the lights have already flickered off, detecting no movement in good portions of the floor. Those that remain act as a spotlight, islands of after hours productivity, or non productivity. 

In Sungyeol’s case, it’s the latter. 

He leans back in his chair, elbows resting lightly on its arms, his fingers steepled. The smell of bagels, toasted with butter, flits through his memories, one well remembered from his university days. It’s been a long time since then, and he’s no longer a cash strapped time strapped student, bouncing between classes, tutorials, and the library. 

Hectic, horrible, stressed, terrified. Nerve wracking, might’ve been the better way to put it. So he hadn’t been the greatest student, hadn’t spent as much time in the library as he should’ve, but the fear of failure had always been there, as much as it’d been for anyone else. He doesn’t miss it, but at the same time, he does. Every assignment, every test, every paper, every exam—all it took was one bad day, and it’d be on your transcript forever, enough to knock you down in favour of one of your classmates. 

Now, two jobs later, when it doesn’t matter, he misses it, a little. Misery loves company, and he hadn’t suffered alone. Myungsoo had helped, someone he’d gone to high school with, someone who’d he’d taken all the same classes with—but there’d been a certain energy in a bunch of kids in their late teens, early twenties, that just didn’t exist in the office. Hell, Sungyeol wasn’t even sure if he still had that—but the one time he’d said that aloud to Myungsoo, Myungsoo had assured him he was just as childish as ever. 

But it’d been easier to laugh loudly, to complain loudly, to do everything with too much exuberance and eagerness, both the good and the bad. Chasing after deadlines just wasn’t the same when it wasn’t about you. Like chasing after a bus, only for the bus to get stuck in traffic. 

With a sigh, Sungyeol finally gives up on the act, saving his work and locking up. He swings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door. Not home, not yet, but he could do with a coffee. 

The coffee shop is familiar. He doesn’t stop at this one as often as he could, a bit out of the way from work, and during the day, it’s busy and loud. 

Now, at the end of the day, the place is quiet, and the only other table occupied were two highschoolers, bent over what looked like SAT prep books. Sungyeol absentmindedly orders his coffee, dumping in three packets of sugar before claiming a small table in the back corner. He leans back in the chair, coffee warm between his hands. The lighting here is soft, and the decorations match the whole wooden walls and quiet music. 

"You want to talk about it?" Myungsoo had said. In line for coffee, frowning at Sungyeol. Someone had once described Myungsoo’s eyes as dead, and Sungyeol could get where they were coming from, the look Myungsoo has when he’s dazing off, his mind far elsewhere. But at that moment, Myungsoo’s eyes were piercing through his skin, peeling away his thoughts. 

"Talk about what?" Sungyeol had said. Myungsoo’s eyes had narrowed at him, daring him to continue, to pretend that nothing was wrong. "No. I don’t," Sungyeol had said, instead. "I don’t want to talk about it." 

"Like you didn’t want to talk over winter?" Myungsoo had asked, and his eyes are sharp, and Sungyeol had looked away. 

"Shut up," he’d said, and Myungsoo had dropped it, because they’d gotten to the counter, and Myungsoo’s always been more motivated by food than anything else—but in this case, Sungyeol knows he’s been given an out. It hadn’t been why he’d paid for both his large coffee and Myungsoo’s iced cap, absolutely not. 

Winter. 

We need to talk, he'd said.

His phone rests on the table in front of him, next to his cooling coffee. His hand hovers over it briefly, before he scoops it up. He taps in a quick message and hits send before he can think too much of it. 

The reply is almost instantaneous. 

`nothing, at home, want to come over?`

`no im busy`

`get take out from next door`

Sungyeol curses—he couldn’t at least ask why he was asking? just ordered him around instead?—but he stuffs his phone into his pocket and nearly crushes his coffee with the other. Like he’s actually going to— 

Half an hour later, he’s pushing open Woohyun’s unlocked door, kicking his shoes off into the tangled pile. 

Sunggyu doesn’t seem to be home. 

"You better pay me back," Sungyeol calls out as he stalks into the apartment. 

Woohyun emerges from the kitchen, carrying plates. 

"Mmm, broccoli chicken, right?" he says, ignoring Sungyeol. 

"What if I hadn’t shown up?" Sungyeol says. He throws himself onto the couch. It sinks under his weight, a familiar sensation that almost feels like home. He grabs the remote and switches on the TV. 

Woohyun shrugs and plucks the remote out of his hand, handing Sungyeol a pair of chopsticks in its place as he sits down next to him. The couch sinks under both their weights, and Sungyeol subtly shuffles away. 

"Cry in my room," Woohyun says. He flips past the news and a hockey game, before settling on some random documentary on Netflix. 

"Where’s Sunggyu?" Sungyeol asks. It’s about seals. He likes seals. 

"At his girlfriend’s place, I think," Woohyun says. 

He’s still holding the remote. He leans forward to set it in its regular place, leans over Sungyeol. Sungyeol slaps him away, scowling, but the movement slides him closer to Sungyeol, and their knees touch. When Woohyun straightens, he doesn’t move away. 

"For the night?" Sungyeol asks. 

Woohyun nods, apparently engrossed in the diet of the seals. 

Sungyeol stands, the couch shifting under the loss of his weight. Woohyun glances up at him, the where are you going look. Sungyeol ignores him, weaving around the couch to the fridge like he’s done a hundred times before. He yanks it open, grabs two beers, cracks them open, hands one to Woohyun, like he’s done a hundred times before. 

Maybe not quite a hundred, but the sentiment's the same. 

"I see you’ve made yourself at home," Woohyun says quietly. 

"You’re the one who told me don’t be a stranger," Sungyeol says, words clipped. This time, he’s the one to slide closer. 

Woohyun stiffens, and takes a sip of his beer. 

"Yeah, but…" Woohyun trails off. 

It’s a far cry from the way Sungyeol had snapped at him for being insufferable and inexperienced all at the same time, and Woohyun finally losing his cool and telling Sungyeol that if he didn’t like it, he could get out of the class. 

Sungyeol wishes they still fought like that. Not that they were fighting, right now. 

He doesn’t know what they were, right now. 

(Sungyeol’s old enough now to recognize his own vindictive streaks, but never until long after it’s happened.) 

So he leans back, beer slowly warming in his hand, and learns about seals.

 

 

 

"I just asked what was up with your mood!" Woohyun drags a hand across his face in exasperation. His expression is tired, and the lines around his mouth are taut. 

"And I said I didn’t want to talk about it, alright?" Sungyeol snarls. He stalks into the kitchen, and then back, and Woohyun’s still standing there in his living room, giving him the same confused, concerned, everything Sungyeol doesn’t want right now look. "And nothing! Nothing’s up! And you’re the last person I’d talk to!" 

"That's why you’re throwing a temper tantrum, right? Like the baby you are?" Woohyun’s eyes flash at him, and Sungyeol knows he’s finally pushed him past his limits, that he’s finally pushed his limits one too many times. He’s not—he’s not the last person he’d talk to. Woohyun's arms are crossed over his chest, and his fingers have curled into fists. 

"Yeah? And your smug ass would know all about that—you…you…" 

"Run out of words? Can’t figure out how to insult me?" Woohyun taunts. 

"Is this your idea of comforting me?" Sungyeol asks. 

"Oh, I didn’t know you wanted to be comforted." Woohyun’s voice is contemptuous, and Sungyeol takes comfort in that. 

"Good, because I’d be worried if you weren’t trying to be a complete and total _dick_." 

"Sungyeol—" 

"Just leave it," Sungyeol says. His nails dig into his palms, and he turns, anything to avoid Woohyun’s pitying eyes. 

"Look, Sungyeol—" 

"I said to leave it!" 

Woohyun reels back, hand falling from Sungyeol’s shoulder, hand flying to his face. Sungyeol drops his hand, bones throbbing where his fist had slammed into Woohyun. His eyes widen, and then they fall into that sad, puppy dog look, his mouth slightly parted, his brows slightly creased. 

"Get out," Sungyeol says. He swallows, his gut tight, everything falling away. Heat prickles at his eyes. His voice sounds dead to his own ears. 

Woohyun doesn’t move, and his hand is still covering his face, and Sungyeol wishes he’d move it, because he wants to see, wants to know. 

"Sungyeol—" 

"Just go!" Sungyeol grabs Woohyun by the wrist, drags him to the door. Woohyun stumbles, and Sungyeol doesn’t care, just needs him gone. 

It isn’t until he’s slammed the door behind Woohyun, as he wraps his arms around himself, pressing himself against the door, that he sees the umbrella still leaning against the wall. 

The rain beats a staccato on the roof; each note brings his attention back to the lingering drops on the black fabric.

 

 

 

"Oi, you get back here, Lee Sungjong!" 

"Like heck I am!" Sungjong yells over his shoulder, bolting down the sidewalk. He startles a flock of pigeons, taking to the air in a flurry of wings. 

Sungyeol shoves past a laughing Sunggyu as he races after Sungjong. Sungjong doesn’t have that much of a lead, and Sungyeol has longer legs. 

"Go easy on him!" Woohyun calls out. "I don’t want to be the one to call his mom and tell her we got her son killed!" 

"You shut up," Sungyeol says, flipping him off over his shoulder. Sungjong chooses that moment to look back, and Sungyeol chooses that moment to snag Sungjong’s wrist. 

"Ahh, let go hyung," Sungjong whines, squirming away. 

"No way," Sungyeol says. He wraps an arm around Sungjong’s neck. "What do you say now?" 

Sungjong twists, smacking at Sungyeol’s arm. "I said I wanted pho, and I still do! You got to pick last time!" 

"We could always go to that Thai place," Dongwoo suggests. He’s laughing too, and Sungyeol does feel briefly ridiculous for chasing Sungjong down a public street—but only until Sungjong takes the opportunity of Sungyeol glaring at Dongwoo to duck and flee. 

Sungyeol crosses his arm and waits for the others to catch up. Sungjong sticks out his tongue at him, and Sungyeol makes a face back. 

"Won’t it be busy?" Myungsoo worries. 

"It’s Friday night, everywhere’s going to be busy," Sunggyu points out. He stops at the intersection. "Alright, choose or I’m choosing for you." 

"Fine, Thai," Sungyeol says quickly. "I like that." 

"But—" Sungjong cuts himself off. 

"Then it’s decided! Lead the way." 

It’s been a while since they’ve all gotten together like this, seven people who got thrown together in university, ended up in the same city, and hung out too much together for their own good. Same programs, same dorms, mutual friends. Myungsoo inviting Woohyun to study with them, because Sungyeol knows him, however tangentially, and he must be smart, to have taught his class. (Woohyun had gotten roped in last minute, a last choice only available choice decision, but Sungyeol grudgingly has to admit he’d done a good job.) Woohyun and Sunggyu weirdly close, Dongwoo in the same class, Howon his friend from the breakdancing club. Sungyeol’s never sure how Sungjong happened—Myungsoo, he thinks, or maybe Howon. (It was him, but Sungyeol tends to leave out the details.) The kid’s in consulting, and gone half the time. They don’t make sense, but relationships rarely make sense, a mix of fate and coincidences. 

The restaurant is crowded when they get there, and Sungyeol is suddenly uncomfortably aware of Woohyun brushing against him—they’re all shoved together, waiting to be seated, jostling for space. It’s too hot for this, and Sungyeol pushes away. Woohyun doesn’t notice. 

"So what’ve you been up to?" Woohyun asks Myungsoo. They’re settled at a long table towards the back. A breeze comes in from the open door to the outdoor seating area, and Sungyeol kind of wishes they could be there instead, since it’s a nice late spring night. 

"Work," Myungsoo says vaguely. He plays with his straw, and shrugs towards Sungyeol. Same stuff, he means. 

"He never tells me anything," Woohyun says, giving Sungyeol a snide look. 

"Why would I tell you anything?" Sungyeol asks. 

"Because you love me?" Woohyun makes a heart with his hands. Sungyeol gags. 

His chest feels like it’s abut to explode. 

He tunes Woohyun out for the rest of the night, opting instead to pick mercilessly on Sungjong. It’s safer, and after an hour of what Myungsoo calls his insane cackle (he doesn’t cackle), he’s too high on elation to care. 

They end up tumbling into Sunggyu and Woohyun’s apartment, two blocks away, their doormat soon a mess of shoes. They’d gone for drinks after, and there’s a low buzz of energy flush against everyone’s skin. 

"I hate horror movies," Sungjong moans. They arrange themselves on the couch and floor, Sunggyu hooking his laptop up to the TV. 

"No you don’t," Myungsoo says at the same time Sungyeol says, "you didn’t have to come." 

"And miss out on seeing you scream like a baby?" Sungjong says. "No thanks." 

Sungyeol tosses the remote at Sungjong’s head—his knee slams into the table instead. 

"Serves you right," Howon laughs, Sungyeol cursing his fate and Sungjong loudly in the same breath. 

"Ok, time to shut up," Sunggyu says. Someone squeezes in next to Sungyeol at the same time Sunggyu switches off the lights. 

It’s Woohyun, and he glances at Sungyeol as if daring him to say anything. Sungyeol jabs his elbow into his side. 

The familiarity is almost disorienting, and for a moment, it feels like Sungyeol’s nineteen again, and they’re piled onto the ugly green couches in the dorm common room. Woohyun’d been wedged between Sungyeol and the wooden arm. Their shoulders had touched, but by the end of the night, Woohyun was nearly on Sungyeol’s lap, Sungyeol clutching at his shoulder and hiding behind his back. (He’s not that scared, not like Myungsoo is hugging a pillow to his chest, but it’s fun, and Sungyeol’s always liked fun.) It’s too easy to fall into the same patterns, because patterns are familiar, and patterns are easy. It’s too easy to not think, not worry, to not hold the years of history between them that haven’t always existed, to erase the months of skin hot against each other, and eyes that can’t quite meet. It’s too easy to ignore the voice that says don’t, don’t, don’t, too easy to give into the one that tells him to be as selfish as he wants. 

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he knows he wakes up with his head against Woohyun’s shoulder, and Woohyun’s hand resting lightly against his knee. He pulls away with a start. Woohyun draws away, his eyes never meeting his. Sungjong’s clearly still awake, half hidden behind a pillow in front of them, but Myungsoo’s dozed off leaning against the couch, and Dongwoo has too, even though it’s barely midnight. It’ll be hell to get them up again, Sungyeol thinks, but he knows Myungsoo’s been pulling late nights to match their Asia offices. Maybe they were getting old. 

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he knows he wakes up to Woohyun gently shaking his shoulder. 

"Everyone’s staying the night," he says. "Since no one has work tomorrow." 

Sungyeol yawns, rubbing his eyes as he scans the room. 

"You're going to have to sleep in my room again, unless you want the kitchen." 

"I’ll pass," Sungyeol says. He clambers over the back of the couch, and drags himself to Woohyun’s room. Myungsoo’s half on the couch even before Woohyun’s pulled it out, and Howon’s helping Sunggyu get spare blankets and sheets from his room. 

The sleeping bag’s already laid out. Sungyeol eyes it, then pulls loose clothes out from Woohyun’s drawers. 

"Not planning on sleeping naked?" Woohyun asks as he walks in. 

"It’s cold," Sungyeol says simply. 

"Suit yourself." 

He reaches under the bedside table to monopolize Woohyun’s charger like he always does, but his phone’s in his bag, somewhere on the floor in the living room. 

The blinds are open, and across the street, Sungyeol can see the shadows cast through lamp lit curtains. Motions of life flicker in and out of view, brief glimpses into anonymous lives. The buildings glow with the sheen of light that always clouds the city, billboards and office buildings and streetlights down below. Even up here, red flashes in the room, signatures of cars still awake and making their way through the streets. 

The sleep haze slowly dissipates, and Sungyeol debates leaving, debates making his way to his own empty apartment. It’s a long walk, but he doesn’t mind walking. Nor is it cold. 

But he doesn’t. 

Woohyun comes in, pauses, hovering over Sungyeol hidden in the sleeping bag. 

"Already asleep?" he asks. Sungyeol doesn’t respond, doesn’t move, and Woohyun steps carefully over him, and onto his bed. 

Outside, there’s the faint stirrings of someone shifting on the couch, the soft creaks of old furniture. Sungyeol traces the muted lines of his body with his eyes. The blanket is bunched in front of him, his shirt lifted just enough to expose a sliver of skin. Woohyun is nearly pressed up against the wall, and faint streaks of light cast across him through the still open blinds, breaking onto the empty side of the bed. 

Outside, the lights in the apartment opposite turn off, but the lights of the city remain on. He’s only ever seen them dark once—a blackout, mid summer, and the first time he remembers seeing so many stars. 

Woohyun is unmoving, and Sungyeol curls up a little tighter into himself. 

A moment, a minute, an hour. 

The mattress sinks under his knee as he climbs onto the bed. It’s not cold, but Sungyeol tugs the blanket from Woohyun’s grasp, and pulls it over the both of them. Woohyun stirs, but doesn’t turn. 

And Sungyeol sleeps, a transposition of Woohyun, a careful handspan apart.

 

 

 

The sleeping bag lies forgotten on the floor. Sungyeol leans over Woohyun on his bed, the dark light of a city night filtering in through the blinds. Woohyun’s eyes are cautious, wary as he reaches up at Sungyeol, so Sungyeol grabs his fingers, brings them to his face and catches them in his mouth—Woohyun’s breath hitches, his eyes opening wide, mouth parting ever so slightly. It’s enough—Woohyun pulls Sungyeol down, only Sungyeol is already leaning down, kissing him. Woohyun’s mouth is so hot and this is nothing like Sungyeol remembers, but it’s been years and they’re older and of course it’s not. 

Woohyun’s hands roam his body, and Sungyeol whines at the touch, whines for more, and Woohyun obliges. He’s hot all over, Woohyun’s tongue trapping his, and god, it feels so good the way he’s using his mouth, the gentle pressure sending shockwaves right down to his crotch. Sungyeol lowers himself so he’s lying on Woohyun, not propped on his elbows, and Woohyun immediately brings his arms around Sungyeol’s body, and he’s so warm and solid and Sungyeol grinds his thigh down between Woohyun’s legs—Woohyun whines in surprise, and Sungyeol does it again, and again, Woohyun’s mouth still hot against his, until Woohyun’s fingers clamp suddenly about him, and he muffles his cries against Sungyeol because Sunggyu is sleeping next door, and what Sungyeol would give to hear Woohyun moaning like that. 

The thing is, Sungyeol doesn’t like his roommates, and he’s pretty sure they don’t like him. It’s far too easy to make excuses to stay overnight with Woohyun, and they’re not even excuses, just reasons—like every time Roommate #2 has his girlfriend over, or worse, when both #1 and #2 have their girlfriends over and they don’t like each other very much and. 

"You need new roommates," Sunggyu tells him. 

"I need _no_ roommates," Sungyeol grumbles, but this is convenient, ten minute walk to work—five minutes to where Woohyun and Sunggyu live. 

Pressed up against the far wall, Sungyeol with his back next to the window, and it’s a good thing they’re some ten floors up because it’d be so easy to glance in and see Woohyun sucking greedy kisses against Sungyeol’s skin, and Sungyeol has to bite on his own hand to keep quiet, because Woohyun’s wrapped his hand around Sungyeol’s dick, and Sungyeol doesn’t know how much longer he can last. But Woohyun lets go, palms Sungyeol’s stomach. 

"Don’t _stop_ ," Sungyeol says, but Woohyun places a finger against his lips. Wait, he means, and Sungyeol bites his tongue, because Woohyun’s trailing kisses lower, and lower, and he’s shuffled back until he’s nearly on his stomach, and Sungyeol feels his own stomach drop. Not in a bad way, no, in a he’s not sure if this is real and if this is too fast and then Woohyun’s presses a kiss against Sungyeol’s hip and: "I won’t do anything you don’t want," Woohyun says, and his voice is soft and his eyes are uncertain and Sungyeol wonders why now, when he’s usually a greater than life cloud of confidence—Sungyeol pushes Woohyun’s head down, and hopes that he’ll take that as yes. Yes, he wants it. 

"I hope you’re not moving in permanently," Sunggyu says. "But you can stay if you do the laundry and the dishes." 

"What am I, Cinderella?" Sungyeol snipes, and Woohyun has to stop him from killing Sunggyu when Sunggyu explains yes, and exactly why. 

Third time’s the charm, or something, and it’s when Woohyun finally says, as they lie there in the morning sun: "so…is this a thing?" 

"Do you want it to be a thing?"

 

 

 

"I’m so tired I could die," Sungyeol whines. He throws himself onto the counter—a passerby outside definitely gives him a strange look. Sungyeol wrinkles his nose at him. 

"Hang in there," Myungsoo says. "If you don’t, then who’s going to cause my early death from too much coffee consumption? That would be terrible, and you wouldn’t want that to happen." 

"I liked it better when you didn’t talk," Sungyeol says. 

"When was that again? I don’t remember that." Myungsoo laughs, leaning back on his stool. 

The coffee shop is busy—or rather, there’s a herd of university kids, two tables pushed together, massive binders spread in front of them. They’re loud enough that the music is a low buzz, and Sungyeol kind of wants to tell them to keep it down, but it’s not so loud that it bothers them. Above it all, there’s the voice of that talkative, cheerful barista with the cute smile. There’s about two weeks before the big exam, and not even Sungyeol is that mean. Sungyeol had thought about it, briefly, but he’s not that ambitious, not anymore—he’d taken the first round, passing by the edge of his teeth, but had never gotten around to doing the second. 

"Oh, someone on my team’s taking level one too," Myungsoo says, when he notices that Sungyeol’s attention has drifted. 

"Oh?" Sungyeol says. 

"Yeah—um, Joonmyun hyung, do you know him?" 

"Joonmyun, Joonmyun—hey, isn’t he the computer guy?" Sungyeol frowns. "What’s he doing that for?" 

Myungsoo shrugs. "Why can’t he?" he says, then his eyes take on that amused glint. "Maybe he’s tired of dealing with all of us non engineers demanding silly things like explosions coming out of the buttons." 

"That was a joke!" Sungyeol says. 

"Well, his job still fills the work experience requirements," Myungsoo says. "He probably knows as much about interest rates as much as the rest of us." 

"Yeah, yeah," Sungyeol grumbles. 

Myungsoo suddenly sits up, and peers out the window. "Isn’t that Woohyun hyung?" 

Sungyeol whips about sharply, and sure enough, that’s Woohyun walking down the street towards them. 

"I’ll go see if—" 

"No, don’t!" Sungyeol pulls Myungsoo down, and it just happens that they’re both facing the inside of the store, and not the store window. His heart doesn’t seem to want to stop racing, and he swallows. 

"Why?" Myungsoo asks, his brows creased into a frown, but he doesn’t get up or turn until a good half minute has passed, and they’re both sure that Woohyun’s walked past. 

"I don’t want to deal with his obnoxious attitude right now," Sungyeol says. His coffee’s almost gone, and he looks mournfully at the bottom of the cup. Maybe he’ll get a refill. That’d make it six for the day—pushing it even for him. 

"What’s been up between you two lately, anyway?" Myungsoo says. 

"Nothing?" Sungyeol says. 

"Hmmm," Myungsoo hums. He traces patterns onto the glass in front of them, and if it’d been winter instead of early summer, Sungyeol wonders what he’d be drawing. As it is, it’s nonsensical and invisible and Myungsoo’s mind seems to be absolutely elsewhere. 

Sungyeol sighs and pushes his chair back. He could really do with another cup. The guy at the register has almost the same dazed off expression as Myungsoo, and Sungyeol snorts, hastily disguising it as a cough. Almost immediately, the smile’s back, dimple and all, and Sungyeol really wonders how he does it. Sungyeol definitely couldn’t. 

"Oi, still here?" Sungyeol prods Myungsoo as he sits back down, hot coffee joining his empty cup. 

"You make good friends," Myungsoo says abruptly. 

Sungyeol’s eyebrows shoot up. 

" _What_?" 

"I’m just saying you make good friends," Myungsoo says, and Sungyeol suddenly realises he’s talking about Woohyun, and his chest clenches. It’d been Myungsoo that time, too, pointing out Woohyun across the street, a year after they’d graduated. He’d been surrounded by people, but Woohyun had caught his eye, and it’s a story that’s been unpaused. They hadn’t been that close in university, anyway, and then Woohyun had graduated, moved on with his adult job and his adult life, while Sungyeol was still buried in exams. Myungsoo’s gone back to staring out the window. "Even if you weren’t always friends." 

"That’s an understatement," Sungyeol grumbles. 

"Alright, even if you used to hate his guts," Myungsoo says, and he’s laughing without laughing, eyes crinkled, mouth stretched in a barely contained smile. 

"I did _not_!" 

"Oh? If only I’d recorded it somewhere," Myungsoo says, slowly reaching for his phone. "Hm, can you send videos in text messages? I bet hyung would love to—" 

"Myungsoo, you wouldn’t—" Sungyeol lunges for his phone, and his coffee wavers dangerously. 

"By the way," Myungsoo says, as they’re on the way out, and he nods towards the kids still bent over their books. "Are you ever going to take Level Two?" 

"Nah, I’m good," Sungyeol says. "Besides—never mind." 

Besides, he’s always been a little afraid of failure. (It’s just never stopped him from trying.)

 

 

 

Sungyeol is jittery with coffee, fifth cup of the day. It’s seven in the evening, and he knows he won’t be sleeping early tonight. It’s a wet autumn, and rain falls against the window as he sits at the counter. People pass by, umbrellas and jackets, steps hurried, no wish to linger. A group of kids crowd into the poutine store across the street, and there’s no one sitting outside the Starbucks next to it, and he doesn’t blame them. 

Someone slides into the seat beside him, and slides his hand over his. 

"I’ll be back," Woohyun says. He sheds his wet coat and hangs it over the back of the chair. There’s a lull, or maybe it’s just the end of the day, and there’s no one in line when Woohyun steps up to the counter. He says something that makes the girl there laugh, and Sungyeol’s fingers are still tapping restlessly against the table. 

"Did you want dinner after this? Chicken?" Woohyun asks. He pushes back the chair, resting his apple cider onto the counter. 

"Maybe," Sungyeol says. He chews at the rim of the cup, as Woohyun takes the lid off his, stirring his cider with the cinnamon stick. 

"How many?" Woohyun asks. He means the coffee. 

"Five," Sungyeol admits. It’s bad for you, Woohyun is going to say, but he doesn’t. 

"We could see a movie," Woohyun says. "Or go to the mall." 

"It’s fine." 

"Where’s Myungsoo?" he asks. 

"I dunno, probably at home." 

There’s a long pause, and then— 

"You’re not mad at me?" 

Woohyun glances sharply at him, before his eyes flicker back to the street outside. "Why would I be?" he says. 

"Because I—" Sungyeol shakes his head. "Never mind." 

"I would like it if you talked to me," Woohyun says wryly, and Sungyeol knows that Woohyun knows what he means. It’s been weeks, and they’ve seen each other since then, but Sungyeol’s never had the nerve to ask. 

"I _do_ talk to you," Sungyeol says petulantly. "I’m talking to you right now." 

"Yeah, I got that far," Woohyun says. 

He’s wearing a neat button down shirt, the sleeves a little damp where they rest on the table. Sungyeol is too, because it’s the middle of the week, and anyway, unlike Woohyun, there is no casual Friday at work. 

"Do you want to come over?" Woohyun says, and yes, that’s exactly what Sungyeol wants. Sungyeol’s place is closest, but that’s not what Sungyeol wants. 

"Let’s get drinks," Sungyeol says. 

"Okay," Woohyun says, and Sungyeol wishes he’d ask again, wishes that he’d say no, let’s not go get drinks, let’s not go to a movie, let’s not get dinner. 

But Woohyun doesn’t, because unlike Sungyeol, Woohyun may be smug and insufferable, but he isn’t a dick. 

And Woohyun, like Myungsoo, doesn’t push him unless necessary, but Myungsoo has never pulled him rain-drenched through the doorway of a dark apartment, and kissed him, water dripping down their hair, skirting their parted lips.

 

 

 

The weather swings between the lingering remains of summer, and the wet cold of the imminent winter. It’s late, the end of the week, he’s tired, and he wants to go home. Today’s one of those cold days, and it’s an easy choice to turn his steps towards the subway station, instead of the meandering forty something minutes walk home. It’s fall, and the sun sets too early. His desk was lit by pale fluorescence, and the orange glow of the ending day is something he hasn’t seen in a while. 

The trees were already bare, skeletons awaiting the bitter wash of ice. Leaves have long been swept away from the gutters, and the lengthened nights already seem to be taking their toll on the city, people hurting down streets, hands in pockets, faces hidden in scarves. 

Sungyeol walks, hunched into himself, the wind at his back. He pauses to stuff a twenty into a cup, the woman huddled into the recess between two buildings calling out a thank you he’s too tired to acknowledge. The subway’s far from empty, but it’s also far from full, and Sungyeol stares blankly at an ad he’s seen hundreds of times before, hand wrapped around a pole, nearly missing his stop. 

He’s just missed the bus, and the next one doesn’t come for fifteen minutes, the same amount of time it takes to walk. 

"Hey." 

It’s Woohyun’s voice, and for a moment, Sungyeol contemplates ignoring it. 

"What are you doing down here?" Sungyeol asks. He turns, and sure enough, it’s Woohyun, walking down towards the subway. 

Woohyun shrugs, gesturing vaguely. "Have you eaten yet?" he asks. He nods towards the main street, where he’s just come from, and where late night places are still open. 

"You know I haven’t." Sungyeol’s brows rise. 

"Me neither," Woohyun says, and Sungyeol can’t tell if he’s lying. "Let’s grab dinner." 

"Only if you’re paying," Sungyeol says. 

"Sure," Woohyun says. It almost catches Sungyeol by surprise. 

It’s not the first time Woohyun’s agreed to Sungyeol’s demands, but it’s the first time he’s agreed so readily. 

It’s become too easy to see each other, to say 'let’s grab dinner, and usually it’s Woohyun who says 'want to come over?' because they usually meet in his neck of the woods. It’s easier than unexpected detours on his way home, to walking faster when he catches sight of a familiar shadow. Sometimes he stays the night, but sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes it feels like everything’s gone back to normal. He’s not sure if it’s a normal he remembers very well. 

Their conversation is muted and spare, over fried chicken and beer. The girls at the table behind Woohyun eagerly fill their silence. Friday means a busier crowd, even though it’s already past nine. The karaoke place across the street’s open for another six hours, and it’ll probably be full for most of them. Sungyeol asks about his work, and Woohyun answers in words Sungyeol knows, but in sentences that completely elude his grasp. His eyes keep swinging to the TV in the back corner, where an old music show is playing 

"You know the saying, when it rains, it pours?" Woohyun says suddenly. 

Sungyeol wrenches back his attention. There’s a faint crease between Woohyun’s brows, and no hint of a smile, forced or real, in the lines of his face. 

"It hasn’t rained lately," Sungyeol says. 

Woohyun wraps his hands around his beer. "But when it does," he says. "Never mind. You normally don’t work this late." 

"How would you know?" Sungyeol says, but Woohyun raises an eyebrow—of course he knows—and Sungyeol shrugs instead. 

"Crunch time," he says. "End of quarter reports are due." 

"Seems like they’re always due." 

"They’re more due than usual." 

"Hmm." 

Woohyun reaches for the bill, as promised, but Sungyeol pulls it away, replacing Woohyun's bills with his own, before pushing it to the ahjumma at the cashier. 

"I thought," Woohyun begins to say, but leaves that thought unfinished as Sungyeol thanks her for their change, sliding it all back anyway. 

"Come over," Sungyeol says suddenly. 

Woohyun freezes, then frowns. 

"I’m always at your place," Sungyeol says. 

Sungyeol’s palms are suddenly too warm, and he shoves them into the pockets of his jacket as he shoulders his way out the door. Months have passed since Woohyun’s last been over—Sungyeol has nearly become a regular in his apartment instead. 

"It’s late," he adds. For a moment, he hears it in Woohyun’s voice. 

What the fuck, his mind says, but Sungyeol has always been good at heeding advice. 

"Alright," Woohyun says, and Sungyeol doesn’t know what answer he’d been hoping for. He nods down the street, darker, emptier, the one that leads to where Sungyeol lives. "Lead the way." 

They slip into his apartment, quiet, some of his neighbours’ windows already dark. Sungyeol kicks off his shoes into the corner, and drags a still hesitant Woohyun in through the door. 

"Don’t be a stranger," Sungyeol says. 

"I don’t think I ever was." 

There’s that old example—a coffee mug is the same as a donut, a ball, the same as a ball. All it takes is a little push and pull, just enough force, a continuous deformation until it’s gone from one state to the other, from the other back to the first, each belonging to the same equivalence class. But break a donut into two halves, and each is the same as a ball. Pinch two donuts into one, and infinity stretches into an impossible bottle, into the shapings of a heart. 

Hands rough against skin, lips crashing into teeth, two bodies tumbling onto the couch, twisted, tangled. Sungyeol clutches at Woohyun’s shirt, while Woohyun’s hands play against the ridges of his spine. Familiar and unfamiliar, too long, too long, too long. 

Woohyun’s mouth sucks teasing, hot and wet against his, and Sungyeol moans openly, pressing himself against Woohyun, Woohyun grinding up against him just as eagerly. He’s dizzy, head spinning—he pushes Woohyun against the wall, pulls away just long enough for Woohyun to look up, lips parted, shiny, swollen, before Sungyeol leans in, teeth closing around Woohyun’s lower lip. 

Woohyun’s fingers dig into the back of his neck; Sungyeol couldn’t have pulled away even if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, he wants Woohyun writhing under him like this, hips pushing upwards, only Sungyeol is half kneeling on his thigh and Woohyun’s desperation clear in the way he has Sungyeol kiss him instead. 

Woohyun’s cheeks are flushed, his chest rising and falling, eyes fixed on Sungyeol. 

Such a bad idea—it flits through his mind, but then Woohyun’s tongue flickers at Sungyeol’s fingers that’d been tracing the line of Woohyun’s jaw. 

Sungyeol lets him, lets his tongue circle his finger, hot and wet, as he presses it against the corner of his mouth. Woohyun’s eyes promise so much more. Hot, wet, and tight, and when Woohyun leans forward, catching him between his lips, pressing him between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Sungyeol shifts until he’s straddling Woohyun; his eyes have fallen shut, but he opens them, shoves in, deep, so he can watch Woohyun gag, the moment of surprise, but not for long, as Sungyeol imagines the hot heat of Woohyun’s tongue swirling around his dick, of his swollen red lips, of Woohyun looking up at him like that, from between his legs. 

With a wet pop, Sungyeol pulls away. 

"I’m…" His voice is rough and hoarse. He swallows, wetting his throat. 

Whatever words follow flee his mind as soon as they form. He wipes his hand against his pants, and turn away. 

"You can shower first," Sungyeol says. 

"Yeah, okay." The couch creaks as Woohyun stands. He pauses, briefly, a step behind and a step to the left, before he walks past Sungyeol and into the bathroom. 

There’s a spare towel in the drawer, and Woohyun knows where it is. 

The couch sinks under Sungyeol’s weight, as he drops himself onto it, again. The table’s a mess, but it’s been a mess for well over a week. His skin’s on fire and his clothes confining, but he doesn’t trust himself to move, to touch, not right now. The sound of rushing water stops, and a few minutes later, Woohyun walks out, hair damp, towel tied around his waist. 

"Same place as usual," Sungyeol says. Spare set of clothes, he means. Woohyun knows, this isn’t an unfamiliar tableau, just one that hasn’t been visited in a while. 

Sungyeol rubs his eyes, then takes his turn in the shower, the water running hot against his skin until it prickles from the scalding temperature, instead of his burning nerves. 

"Your bed," Woohyun says, as Sungyeol goes into his room. He’s sitting at Sungyeol’s desk, staring at it. 

"What about it?" 

"It’s so…neat," he says. 

Sungyeol snorts. "Take it," he says. He tosses his clothes into the laundry bin, toweling his hair as he walks back out. 

"Hey, Sungyeol—" 

"I told you, it’s crunch period," Sungyeol says. Papers are scattered across the table, and Sungyeol pulls his laptop out, powering it on. Woohyun had trailed out after him, his presence awkward in the space between Sungyeol’s room, and Sungyeol. 

"I’ve been sleeping out here anyway," Sungyeol says. It wasn’t, at least, a lie. 

His eyes are fixed on the screen, even as he keeps note of Woohyun, finally turning around. 

"Good night," Woohyun says softly. 

"Mmmm."

 

Sungyeol wakes to the ache of an empty apartment, but when he pads across the room, his bed is still occupied. Softly, he returns to the kitchen, methodically pouring beans into the grinder, turning the handle until they’re not too fine, just coarse enough for the coffee to steep well. The electric kettle’s been filled and turned on, and Sungyeol grabs two mugs from the shelf. He stares at them for a moment, then returns one, replacing it with a mug on the shelf above, shoved all the way to the back. 

Footsteps sound behind him, and Sungyeol pours the ground coffee into the bottom of the french press, fingers tapping against the counter as he waits for the water to boil. 

"There’s cereal," Sungyeol says. "That’s it." 

"And coffee." 

Woohyun’s voice is still rough with sleep, and it skips across Sungyeol like a live wire. 

"I always have coffee," Sungyeol says. 

Woohyun chuckles, taking a step closer, and then another, until he’s leaning against the counter besides Sungyeol, arms over his chest. "You ran out once," he says. 

"Ugh, don’t bring it up." 

"It wasn’t pleasant for me either!" Woohyun’s quick to point out. 

Sungyeol scowls in irritation, although there’s no one to see it but the kettle, as he slowly pours the water into the french press. "You’re still mad I sent you out for more?" 

"Of course not," Woohyun laughs, eyes scrunched, grin wide. 

Sungyeol turns back to the coffee. 

"I’m not petty like you," Woohyun adds. 

"You’re lucky I like my coffee more than I like you," Sungyeol growls. 

"Ouch," Woohyun says. He reaches across the counter, over Sungyeol. Sungyeol pulls back and turns towards the fridge, but Woohyun only grabs two bowls from the drying rack, and Sungyeol grabs the milk. Woohyun doesn’t wait, just pours himself a bowl of Lucky Charms, and takes the milk from Sungyeol. 

"You really need to do groceries," Woohyun comments. 

"Didn’t feel like it," Sungyeol says. He shrugs, checking the time on the stove. "I never eat here anyway." 

"Not even breakfast?" 

"Especially not breakfast." 

"Fair enough," Woohyun says. The spoons are in the drawer in front of Sungyeol, and Sungyeol takes a step back when Woohyun reaches for it. 

The thing about patterns was that patterns were easy, and patterns were familiar. Patterns were automatic, patterns mean that they don’t have to think. Patterns mean that they move around each other in ways they always have, or once had. Like gears that’ve fallen out of use, stiff and skipping and scraping and ungreased, but still, they click against each other, turning, turning, turning. 

"Doing anything today?" Woohyun asks. 

Sungyeol glances up from his coffee. "Just work," he says. "I’m busy." 

Woohyun’s eyes are focussed on him in consideration. "You need a break," he says. 

"You’re not my mom," Sungyeol says. 

"Good, I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out." 

Sungyeol puts the mug down, tracing the handle with a finger, down the plain lines that encircle its wide rim. "What’d you have in mind?" 

"You could do your groceries," Woohyun suggests. His eyes are laughing and Sungyeol kicks his ankle. 

"The mall? A movie? Take a walk in the park?" 

"What park?" Sungyeol asks, and then: "are you paying?" 

"For your groceries? Keep dreaming." 

"You’re the one who wants to see a movie," Sungyeol says, even though that hadn’t been what Woohyun had said at all. 

"You’re asking me to take you out on a date?" Woohyun asks. 

"I should do groceries," Sungyeol says. 

"Let’s go shopping," Woohyun says. "And get groceries on the way back." 

" _Let’s_?" Sungyeol says. "I don’t seem to recall saying I wanted your company." 

"You always want my company," Woohyun says flippantly. "You know you miss it." 

"Gross." Sungyeol gags. 

"So is that a yes or no?" 

"I guess I’ll let you borrow my clothes," Sungyeol says, and he supposes that it's answer enough.

 

The wind, when they venture outside several hours later, is bitter and cold, and Sungyeol regrets it almost immediately. Woohyun’s huddled into his coat as well, hands in his pockets, wind whipping his hair into his face. It’s a soft brown, and Sungyeol wonders when he’d changed it. 

"It’s cold, isn’t it?" Woohyun says. 

"Obviously," Sungyeol snaps. 

"Maybe we should’ve checked the weather," Woohyun says. There’s a crease between his brows. 

"That would’ve been too smart for you," Sungyeol says. He conveniently forgets that he hadn’t either—it hadn’t been his idea to go outside, would be what he’d say if Woohyun pointed it out. 

Woohyun doesn’t point it out. 

The day was bright, the sun piercing, its warmth shattered by the wind. It’s late October, but winter’s started earlier than that before, and maybe this was going to be one of those years. It’d been in the mid twenties last week, but the weather one day is no guarantee of the season the next. A softball game is underway down the hill in the park, a mix of kids and teens. An old man is walking his dog across the street, the pit mix trotting ahead of him, then turning back, matching his pace. Sensing danger, a fluffy white cat darts under a parked car, their tail visible, swishing back and forth in irritation. 

By the time they hit the main street, Sungyeol’s ears are cold, and Woohyun’s cheeks are pink. 

"I know where we should go first," Woohyun says. He rubs his hands together, then grabs Sungyeol’s wrist and tugs him across the side street. 

"I can cross the street by myself!" Sungyeol yanks his hand back. "There aren’t even any cars!" 

"Children should always hold an adult’s hand when crossing streets," Woohyun says, laughing. He runs off before Sungyeol can hit him, dodging a large group of teenagers who give them dirty looks. Woohyun doesn't get very far, and Sungyeol hooks an arm about Woohyun’s neck. 

"I’m not even shorter than you!" Sungyeol says. 

"Height has nothing to do with age," Woohyun says, ruffling Sungyeol’s hair. 

Sungyeol rolls his eyes and lets go. He could be an adult, thanks very much. 

They walk down the familiar street, past the place they’d eaten last night. Despite the chill, it's still busy, groups of friends pushing past each other. A heavy mix of English and Korean and Chinese threads down the street, weaving in and out and skipping across and over, as people pass people, little clusters of private lives. Sungyeol buries his hands deeper into his pockets, wondering where Woohyun has in mind. Well, there’s only a few places, really, stationary shops and the like. 

"Let’s go in," Woohyun says—before Sungyeol could protest, he’d grabbed his wrist again, and was pulling him into a store, colourful bags arranged in the window. 

An old Girl’s Generation song is playing, and without the wind, the warmth inside is immediate. It’s small, narrow, full of accessories. Sungyeol’s stopped by before, helping Myungsoo pick something out for his at the time girlfriend. The owner greets them from the register, and Woohyun waves back cheerfully. There’s an arrangement of ties next to the counter, but Woohyun has gone around the center aisle of bags, heading towards the back of the shop. 

"Why here?" Sungyeol asks. 

"Because it’s cold!" he says. Woohyun hums, running his hand in the air over a row of scarves. Ah, because it's cold. 

"This would look cute on you," Woohyun says. He drapes it around Sungyeol’s neck, Sungyeol too stunned to stop him, then pushes Sungyeol in front of the mirror. "See, I knew it." 

Woohyun is peering at his reflection over Sungyeol’s shoulder, over the bright red scarf looped loosely over his shoulder. Sungyeol grudgingly admits the scarf looks nice, and tells himself it’s not because Woohyun had picked it out. 

"It’s a scarf," Sungyeol says flatly. 

"I know it’s a scarf," Woohyun says. He doesn't wait for Sungyeol to reply, and before Sungyeol has a chance to protest, Woohyun's paid for it and was tugging Sungyeol out of the store again. 

Sungyeol pulls away as soon as they step outside. 

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he says. "You’re acting all…" he trails off, not quite able to find the words he needs. Familiar. Like they’re more than friends. But that’s all they are. 

"You need a break," Woohyun says again. 

"Yeah, whatever, but what the hell’s wrong with you?" Sungyeol ignores the looks directed towards them. 

"Nothing," Woohyun says. "I just wanted to…look, we don’t need to fight about everything, alright?" 

"We’re not _fighting_ ," Sungyeol says. He shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets, burying his face deeper into the scarf. "Let’s go get coffee." 

They get coffee, and then they get snacks at the grocery store, the red bean fish cakes quickly cooling in the wind outside. Woohyun drags him to look at the newest girl group CDs, and Sungyeol decides that yeah, he wants to see a movie after all. They take the subway down, Woohyun picking the new superhero movie, paying for their tickets like Sungyeol had demanded. Sungyeol buys the popcorn, and the movie's not great, but it’s not terrible either. The mall is packed, and there’s not much point hanging around. They meander down the street anyway, just long enough for Woohyun’s cheeks to flush pink again, and this time, Sungyeol shoves Woohyun into a store, and picks a random scarf out from a shelf. It's worth it, to see Woohyun’s look of surprise. The sun is quickly falling below the horizon, and they end up riding the subway back up. Not chicken, though, opting instead for a different place they used to frequent. Either Woohyun suggests it, or Sungyeol does, but they end up pushing into the karaoke place, flush with two bottles of soju, Sungyeol singing girl group songs half tone deaf, Woohyun crooning ballads of lost love. Sungyeol drops onto the couch next to Woohyun, and Woohyun’s hand brushes against his shoulder. 

It's a flush that carries them down the street, and back to Sungyeol’s apartment, and it's too late for Woohyun to leave, Sungyeol says. By the time Sungyeol's out of the shower, Woohyun's already in bed—Sungyeol glances at the couch in the living room. He pushes Woohyun to the other side of the bed, and slides under the covers, instead. 

Summer had passed and winter hadn’t yet come, and the heat from their bodies mingle beneath the blanket, covering them both. Woohyun's lying on his back, and Sungyeol on his side, eyes tracing the shadow of Woohyun’s profile. The light’s off, but the city's never entirely dark, and it's through the not quite opaque blinds that Sungyeol sees the wealth of people’s lives reflected in Woohyun’s still open eyes. 

They stare up, towards the ceiling, until, perhaps sensing Sungyeol’s scrutiny, fall shut. Sungyeol too, lets his eyelids fall. 

They are a handspan apart, and a hand brushes against his. Their fingers tangle briefly together, before he pulls away. The buzz from before hasn't quite left, and as they lie there, Sungyeol truly understand what it means to tremble with need. Mouth, hot against his skin; fingers ghosting down the line of his neck; hand clasped about his wrist, hand pressed against his shoulder, hand running down his thigh. 

They’re so close, and he knows that if he just reaches out, a finger’s width, if he just reaches out and curls his fingers about his, then maybe…Then maybe. 

He wills his eyes shut again, rolls onto his back, tries to pretend that he’s not lying in bed next to a man who he’d very much like to kiss, a man who he’d very much like to kiss him, to hold him down, to suck at his skin with lips and teeth all hot and wet and leave him with so little control of himself. Tries to pretend that they hadn’t, twenty four hours ago, done nearly the same thing—but he’s the one who’d pulled away, the one to step away, because they can’t, because they shouldn’t—because he’s greedy, and he wants more. 

Their fingers touch again, and they are neither of them asleep. 

Woohyun brushes his finger across the inside of Sungyeol’s wrist, a shuddering breath running down the lines of his body. Carefully, he traces it upwards, circling the back of his thumb, letting his hand slide up Sungyeol’s arm. Sungyeol doesn’t move, as if frozen, the only indication a faint tremor as his breath sticks in his lungs. His hand pauses, just below Sungyeol’s elbow, as if afraid to go any further, as if saying that they could stop, that all he had to do was roll over, to roll away, and none of this would’ve happened. 

But he doesn’t, and so he continues to feel the minute ridges of skin against skin, until it comes to rest on his shoulder, the same shoulder that a few hours earlier, he’d just as barely dared to place his hand on. 

He’d still yet to move, so he traces his fingers against his neck, along his collar bones, settling in the hollow of his throat. His pulse beats loud, and he can’t be sure how much of that is his own, running through his veins, pounding against every inch of his skin. 

He doesn’t dare move closer, yet he also can’t bear to draw away, and so his touch lingers, five beats, six, ten, twenty. Twenty one, twenty two—too long, but he’s barely withdrawn when thin fingers wrap around his wrist, and Sungyeol’s pulled him onto his side. 

"Are…" Woohyun begins to say, but it’s swallowed as Sungyeol props himself up on one elbow. He leans in close, his breath skimming Woohyun’s skin. Fingers trace his wrist, and then Sungyeol’s rolled on top of him, his weight heavy, reassuring. His hand brushes against his face, Sungyeol holding himself up just enough for Woohyun to see the light glint off his eyes, and then he’s too close, and Woohyun doesn’t think, just clutches him against him, fingers tangling in his hair, kissing him, being kissed. Sungyeol’s hand cups the side of his face, and Woohyun’s hand slips beneath Sungyeol’s tank, riding up his back, until it comes to rest between his shoulder bones. Sungyeol’s leg is beneath Woohyun’s and Woohyun’s leg is between Sungyeol’s, Sungyeol grinding against him, small sounds slipping into Woohyun’s mouth. God, his mouth was so hot, and Woohyun lets Sungyeol do the work, lets Sungyeol take control, lets Sungyeol draw back just enough for Woohyun to see the want glowing in his eyes, then let Sungyeol catches his lip between his, because there’s a need in Sungyeol that Woohyun’s missed, that Woohyun’s craved and had forgotten and it’s almost like the first time. 

His hand traces the ridges of Sungyeol’s spine, following the line of his body to the hollow of his hip, and Sungyeol’s breath hitches, even as he continues kissing Woohyun, Woohyun heady and breathless. 

A small moan, and Woohyun takes that for encouragement, takes Sungyeol grinding against him as encouragement, and slips his hand beneath the elastic of his waistband, circling Sungyeol’s cock. He’s hard, so hard, he’d felt it against him and it takes so little, Sungyeol biting down against him, loud, like in everything else he does. Woohyun catches these sounds in his mouth and rolls him over, still rubbing circles against the head of his cock, pressing him into the mattress, until Sungyeol comes, one long drawn out whine, and Woohyun, taking that sound deep into him, letting it pool at the base of his stomach, grinds against Sungyeol’s leg, until he feels the tension explode and escape and suffuse his skin and his nerves and for long moments, all he feels is Sungyeol, Sungyeol, Sungyeol— 

He pulls away, chest rising and falling, breathing hard. His head is spinning, his mind cloudy, his limbs not quite his own. There’s a sense of familiarity buried deep inside him, mixed with the sense of something he can’t quite touch. And then there’s Sungyeol, a handspan apart, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees his face, flushed, hair plastered against the side, slick with sweat. His eyes are turned steadfastly upwards, and Woohyun, for a moment, thinks about running his hand through Sungyeol’s hair. 

He doesn’t, though. 

Hot, sweaty, sticky, he drifts off to sleep, and Sungyeol is beside him.

 

He wakes early, slips out from under the covers, careful not to wake the other. 

The sun hasn't quite risen, because it’s late in the season. He closes the door behind him, and then the door to the bathroom, as he rinses last night off his skin, sloughing away beneath the hot stream of water. 

He towels himself dry, and his hair, and then he goes back into the room where Sungyeol is still asleep, picking up from the floor the clothes he’d worn to work, where he’d left it two nights ago. He dresses, and Sungyeol still does not wake, because the sun hasn’t quite made its slow way into the world. 

He could, Woohyun thinks, leave now. He could leave a note, or nothing at all and just slip away, and they could both go back to pretending that last night, and the night before, moments of indiscretion, could be wiped from both their memories as if they’d never existed. He doesn’t want to, but he could. 

He doesn't. 

Sungyeol’s fridge isn’t quite empty—milk, a beer, a half empty jar of kimchi, two eggs in the door. 

This might’ve been Sungyeol’s apartment, but Woohyun was no stranger. 

Humming quietly to himself, he pulls bowls and chopsticks from the cabinets, the drawers, and raids what little is in Sungyeol’s fridge. The motions are near automatic, something akin to memory. He’ll make coffee later, when Sungyeol is awake. 

"What are you doing?" 

Woohyun’s heart leaps, and when he turns, Sungyeol is leaning against the wall, eyes staring sleepily at him. He’s always been handsome, and even now, half awake, Woohyun feels attraction stir inside of him. He forces his heart down, and forces a grin onto his face. 

It’s not that hard, because it’s Sungyeol. 

"Making breakfast, obviously," he says. 

Sungyeol’s eyes flicker across the kitchen, and Woohyun turns back to the stove, testing the edge of the pancake. Bubbles are beginning to form on the batter, but if he flips it too soon, it’ll break. 

"Who asked you to do that?" And Sungyeol’s voice is curt and short and he moves past Woohyun, his presence fleeting. He grabs the dishcloth as he does, to clean up the mess on the counter Woohyun had meant to clean. 

"Well look who’s a ray of sunshine," Woohyun says. Maybe he should’ve left. Maybe he should’ve waited for Sungyeol to get up first. Maybe, last night, he shouldn’t have wanted. 

He’s forgotten how volatile Sungyeol can be, at times. 

"I’ll make coffee," Sungyeol says, and Woohyun swallows back the 'I was going to get to that,' he wants to say. 

"Alright," he says instead. 

Sungyeol sets the kettle on, and Woohyun watches him out of the corner of his eyes. He hasn’t changed, his arms thin and pale and bare, his hair a mess, and he knows this is a picture that few other’s have seen. That only Woohyun’s seen. He swallows the thought down, and turns back to the stove. 

"And why pancakes? We could’ve just had cereal again, I don’t—" 

" _You_ can have cereal again if you don’t want it," Woohyun cuts him off. This is the last one, and he turns the heat off the stove, checking underneath to make sure it’s done. 

"God, this makes it feel like we’re boyfriends or something," Sungyeol says. 

Woohyun’s heart had leapt, and now it plummets, but he’ll be damned if he lets it show. He’s never sure if Sungyeol does it on purpose, or if he does it without thinking, or if he can’t tell the difference himself. 

The smell of coffee replaces conversation. Woohyun stares at some point behind Sungyeol’s head, while Sungyeol stares down at his own plate, or maybe Woohyun’s. 

They weren’t, of course. Boyfriends. I get it, Woohyun had told him. We’re just friends. 

But last night, for a brief moment, he’d thought they could be, again. 

Sungyeol doesn’t think that. 

Sungyeol kicks him under the table, and Woohyun looks up to see Sungyeol’s scowl. 

"What was that for?" 

"For being annoying," Sungyeol grumbles. 

"Wow, look who’s talking." Woohyun scoffs and rolls his eyes, and lets the usual bickering carry them through. He kicks Sungyeol back, but changes his mind—he slides his foot up Sungyeol’s shin, watches him, warily, watches his expression flicker to surprise, before schooling back into neutrality. Sungyeol jerks away, and his face disappears behind his mug. 

"I’d better get going." His chair scrapes back loudly as he stands. It grates, and he really should’ve just left before Sungyeol had awoken. Maybe that’s what Sungyeol had meant, what are you doing, he hadn’t meant the pancakes. He grins at Sungyeol, tapping at his empty plate. "I cooked, so you get the dishes." 

Sungyeol wrinkles his nose in discontent. 

"I knew I’d be cleaning up your mess," he grumbles. 

Woohyun chuckles, and turns to go. "Don’t miss me too much," he says. 

He knows Sungyeol’s gotten up behind him, and for a moment, he thinks about turning, about grabbing Sungyeol by the wrist, about holding him against the wall and kissing him until neither of them can breath. He thinks about sucking bright red marks into his skin, even though Sungyeol is usually the possessive one, and Woohyun’s always been glad for the power of BB cream. 

But he doesn’t. 

He grabs his bag, his coat—the scarf, a dark blue—from the floor, and bends down to tie his shoes, Sungyeol trailing behind him like an overgrown dog. 

He should’ve gone before Sungyeol had awoken. 

"See you later," Sungyeol says, when Woohyun straightens. 

"Yeah," Woohyun says. He reaches for the door handle, slowly, unsure if this was really okay, unsure if maybe they should talk about it—he hopes they don’t, he hopes they won’t—or if they’re really going to pretend nothing’s happened. 

(He hopes they won’t do that, either.) 

He opens the door. 

Sungyeol reaches past him, and closes it. 

"What—" but Woohyun doesn’t get to finish that, not when Sungyeol’s grabbed his shirt. Woohyun’s things fall to the floor. 

Sungyeol is suddenly so close, and last night still lingers on his skin, and then Sungyeol’s lips are against his and Woohyun’s thoughts disappear into the rush of blood. 

Sungyeol’s tongue slips between Woohyun’s parted lips, his hand cupped behind Woohyun’s neck. He’s hot against him, and Woohyun slides his hands around Sungyeol’s back, his pants suddenly too tight. Sungyeol moans into his mouth and Woohyun worries briefly about the neighbours, but that thought too is soon lost in the heat of Sungyeol sucking at his lip. 

His head is dizzy with need—Woohyun pulls back, pushes Sungyeol away, and this time, he pushes Sungyeol against the door, and this time, he kisses Sungyeol hungrily. Sungyeol whines, grinding against him, his need fueling Woohyun’s own. He pushes his tongue past Sungyeol’s lips, Sungyeol briefly pressing them shut before he lets him in. He holds Sungyeol down, presses a hand against his bare chest, even when Sungyeol tries to pull away—he feels his mind’s eye slowly going black with a need for air, and he knows Sungyeol, less prepared, is too. 

He kisses him, again, until Sungyeol finally pushes him away, the both of them breaths ragged. 

Sungyeol’s lips are wet and swollen, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide, his mouth open. 

Sungyeol can be possessive, but right now, Woohyun wants Sungyeol, wants him in every way. Sungyeol’s height works, here, as Woohyun holds him against the door, sucking at the side of Sungyeol’s neck, until Sungyeol’s an incoherent mess clutching at Woohyun’s shirt. Woohyun pulls away, presses a soft kiss against the side of his jaw, and another, and another, each one following the next. Heat pools in his body, in the base of his stomach, with every small noise Sungyeol makes, with every small shift of Sungyeol against him, and Woohyun kisses him again and again, and then, in a fit of insanity, slips his hand underneath the elastic of Sungyeol’s waistband, his hand pressing against Sungyeol’s cock, through his underwear still sticky from last night— 

Sungyeol’s face is buried in his shoulder, and Woohyun presses his head against the cool door, grounding and cold against him. Sungyeol’s sounds, muffled, slide through his shirt and deep into his skin, and Woohyun rubs his fingers against Sungyeol, drags out those sounds until Sungyeol falls limp against him, his arms wrapping around Woohyun’s chest. 

He’s warm. Too warm. 

Woohyun steps away, and he sees Sungyeol stumble. 

"Have a good day," Woohyun says. His voice is less steady than he would’ve liked it to be, and his mind is a mess of unsurety. 

He looks a mess, he knows it. Sungyeol looks a mess, red marks scattered across his skin, and Woohyun doubts he looks much better. Somehow, that matters less than the bewildered look in Sungyeol’s eyes (what do you _want_ ), the unsaid words he can nearly see. 

But he can’t stay, and he runs a hand through his hair, and he pushes past Sungyeol and into the empty hallway.

 

 

"You want to talk about it?" 

Woohyun looks up to Kibum perching himself at the edge of his desk. His friend’s hair is blond again, and Woohyun rakes a hand through his own recently dyed hair. 

"About what?" he asks. 

"You didn’t flirt with the waitresses today," Kibum laughs, but his eyes are serious. "No, but really, you doing okay? Did the interview…" 

Woohyun shakes his head and leans back in his chair. "It went fine," he says. "I’ve just had a lot on my plate lately." 

Kibum pulls a face in sympathy. Woohyun’s told him bits and pieces, more than he’s told anyone else, at least. But not Sungyeol. Never Sungyeol. 

"I called my mom last night," he says. Woohyun’s slipped into Korean, even though the office is mostly empty. 

"And?" 

It’s a bad habit, and he shakes his head. 

"I need some coffee. Come with?" This time, in English. 

"Do I need my coat?" Kibum asks. 

Woohyun hesitates for a moment, then gestures upwards. "Let’s stay inside." 

"Just the usual," Woohyun says, once they get out the door. "I guess she’s just worried." 

"That’s what moms are for," Kibum says. 

"And…" Woohyun hesitates. He hasn’t thought this through entirely himself—he’s not sure if it’s too soon to talk about it, if he shouldn’t mull over it more. But it’s Kibum, and he’s always been close with Kibum. If Woohyun believed in other halves, that’d be it. 

Kibum waits, and Woohyun waits until they’re out of the elevator, because there’s a pair of women making small talk who get off on the same floor. He steps to the side, away from the coffee shop, out of the way. 

His heart is loud. 

"I’m thinking about moving to Korea." 

"You’re _what?_?" 

Woohyun grimaces, shaking his head for Kibum to keep his voice down. "I don’t even know if 'thinking' is the right word for it," he says. "Considering?" 

"That means it’s a real possibility." Kibum shakes his head. "You’ll need more than a coffee break to tell me about this." 

"Yeah," Woohyun laughs dryly. "Like I said, a lot on my plate." 

"Your mom?" Kibum asks. He nods towards the coffee shop. Woohyun agrees, and turns down the hall. They should at least return with coffee. 

"Kind of. They’re planning on moving back, when dad’s finished this project. And you know that my big brother moved back to live with our grandparents in high school, right? So…" 

"So it’d be just you here," Kibum says. 

Woohyun nods. It wouldn’t make any real difference, not for him. He hasn’t lived _with_ his parents for…how ever many years ago second year of university was, and that’d only been a summer. Really, not since they’d moved to the west coast and to another country and he’d stayed here. 

"I don’t know what to do," Woohyun says. "Even my dad thinks it’s a bad idea, but if everyone’s there, and…" he trails off, pressing his mouth into a thin line. 

"Your grandparents?" 

Woohyun nods. It’s hard to forget how old they’ve become, just as hard it is to remember how old they’ve become. Hard to forget how thin his grandmother’s hand had been in his, how fragile her skin had seemed, and at the same time, hard to remember when it’d happened, or maybe, hard to remember when he’d realised. This, he had mentioned to Kibum. When his father’s father had passed away five years ago, it was the first time someone he’d known had. They hadn’t been that close—they couldn’t have been, not when they’d moved across an ocean when Woohyun had been seven and it was with his mother’s parents he’d stayed with over the summers. But the news had hit him harder than he’d thought it could’ve, like a great, taloned claw had wrapped around his heart and couldn't let go until it’d been torn from every vein and artery in his chest. 

_You could come with us_ , his mother had said, and the idea had hit him as hard as the news had. 

"I know, I know, I’d be throwing away my entire life, my job, my career, my friends, and then there’s the military, I _know_." 

Kibum places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hey, at least you wouldn’t have to worry about that job interview," he jokes. 

"Thanks," Woohyun says glumly. 

"Let’s talk about this later?" Kibum says, and they’re at the counter, and Woohyun nods, and goes to order his medium coffee two milk two sugar, because this isn’t even half of it. 

When it rains, it pours, he’d told Sungyeol. 

It’s raining now. 

Kibum had left to finish up some work he had to do, and Woohyun had lingered in the bar, and he regrets it now that the light drizzle he was sure would clear has turned into a steady rain, defying the weather report’s ten percent chance of precipitation. Ten percent wasn’t zero, and even a zero percent prediction didn’t mean a zero percent chance in reality. It still has a chance to clear, though, and it’s still early, not even eight, so Woohyun gets another beer and sits at the table near the window. 

There’s the job, there’s Korea, and then there’s Sungyeol. 

Sungyeol, who should be the least important of the three. Sungyeol, who Woohyun had firmly placed back into the category of 'friend'. Sungyeol, who Woohyun had been terrible at keeping in that category of 'friend'. 

It was difficult to build a dam, easier to keep it closed, and easiest to break it open. 

But rebuilding it was an entirely different story. 

There’d always be cracks, weakness, small leaks that were forever being patched up, and always the fear that it could come crashing down again. 

And then there’s Sungyeol, tapping at the window, and what the hell? Think of the devil and the devil will come. 

"Look at this loser drinking alone." Sungyeol shakes off the umbrella and drops into the seat across from Woohyun. 

"Well now there’s two of us," Woohyun replies. 

Sungyeol snorts, flagging over a server and asking for whatever Woohyun’s having. 

"You don’t like IPAs," Woohyun points out. 

"Yeah, well I don’t like you," Sungyeol shoots back. Woohyun can’t help but laugh at the elementary playground response, and even Sungyeol looks suitably disgusted with his comeback. 

"Another late night?" Woohyun asks. 

"Last one," Sungyeol says. He cracks his neck and leans back in the chair and honestly, he does look more relaxed than he’s looked in weeks. 

"Not out celebrating with the crew?" 

The corners of Sungyeol’s mouth draw down in reply to that. "After spending twelve hours a day with them for the past week? No thanks." He pauses, and whatever he’s about to say next clearly pains him, from the scowl on his face. "The break was good." 

Woohyun lets out a puff of self-satisfied laughter. "I’m always right," he says smugly. 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever—thank you," Sungyeol says, as his beer arrives. 

"So you’re celebrating with me instead?" 

"Don’t flatter yourself," Sungyeol says. "I’ll be celebrating alone with a good night’s sleep." 

"There are so many things I could say to that but I won’t, because I’m nice," Woohyun says, chuckling. Sungyeol glares at him, sipping at his beer. His nose instantly wrinkles in distaste, and Woohyun bursts out laughing. 

"Gimme that," he says, reaching for Sungyeol’s beer, still held midair. 

"Hey, I’m drinking this!" 

"No you’re not, I am," Woohyun says to Sungyeol, and then to the passing server: "an amber ale, please." 

Sungyeol grudgingly relinquishes his hold, and Woohyun drains his glass and pulls Sungyeol’s in front of him. 

"I’m not carrying you home if you drink too much," Sungyeol says. 

"I’m not you," Woohyun says sweetly. He pulls his legs out of the way before Sungyeol has a chance to kick them—he ends up kicking the chair instead, and just desserts and all that. 

"You want to order food?" Woohyun asks, after Sungyeol’s settled down and stopped sulking. "Have you eaten?" 

"Sushi again, worked late," Sungyeol says. He shrugs. "Only good thing about end of quarters." 

"The overtime pay can’t hurt," Woohyun says. The server returns, and Woohyun gestures towards Sungyeol. Woohyun’s never tried this one before, but whatever it is, Sungyeol prefers it to 'whatever he was having' because he lets out a content sigh as he puts down his glass. 

"Could be worse," Sungyeol agrees. 

"So where were you going?" Woohyun asks. 

"Huh?" 

Woohyun nods towards the darkened streets. "You missed the subway by a good block," he says. 

"Oh. That." Sungyeol’s face darkens—except that’s not it, really. One corner of his mouth pulls outwards a little, his eyes take on a nearly sullen look, his shoulders tense, and Woohyun knows that this isn’t something Sungyeol wants to talk about, and that it isn’t his place to pry. 

"But good thing you missed the subway because now you don’t have to miss me," Woohyun sing-songs. He probably definitely deserves the sharp kick to the shins he receives, even if it does hurt like a bitch. 

"God, will you ever be less annoying?" 

"You love it," Woohyun says. 

Sungyeol snorts in disbelief, taking a long pull from his beer. 

"Did you get dumped?" he asks, after. 

Woohyun’s heart jumps, as he processes Sungyeol’s words. No, yes, I. He blinks. Because he’s sitting alone. "Of course not, who’d dump me?" he says. 

"Everyone," Sungyeol says bluntly. Woohyun winces. Too close to home. He’d certainly never been the one doing the dumping. 

"If you mean Kibum, he left to finish work," Woohyun says, keeping his voice light. "Don’t worry, we’re not breaking up any time soon." 

Something flashes over Sungyeol’s face and disappears just as quickly, as his brows shoot up in disbelief. "Is there something you’re not telling me?" he says. 

"Because I tell you everything, right?" and it’s a little too sharp but either Sungyeol doesn’t notice or Sungyeol doesn’t care, and whichever it is, Woohyun’ll take it. 

"That would imply we were friends," Sungyeol says, and Woohyun’s stomach twists itself into knots that has nothing to do with the beer. 

"Or that you were my diary—which I think I might prefer," Woohyun says. 

Sungyeol gags. "Ugh, I don’t want to know all your dirty thoughts." 

"Good thing I don’t keep a diary," Woohyun says. 

"So you’re saying you’d prefer that I didn’t exist?" 

"No! No, what?" Woohyun answers too quickly, and then back pedals because Sungyeol’s laughing, and then wishes he hadn’t done that either, because the look Sungyeol’s giving him is far too piercing for his liking, and Woohyun doesn’t have a fast response, and maybe it’s because three beers do tend to slow down thought processes. 

Woohyun doesn’t know if he’s grateful for the silence that takes over instead, and they’re just two men in their twenties at a table near the window, each nursing their own beer. The rain hasn’t quite let up, and Sungyeol was right about one thing—that they were friends. 

Friends who end up slipping into Woohyun’s apartment, the lights already off, and Sungyeol’s hand brushes too accidentally against Woohyun’s thigh. 

"Sunggyu’s sleeping," Woohyun murmurs. The apartment is dark, but they both know their way around, when it’s dark, because none of this is new. So Sungyeol drags Woohyun to the bathroom, where the door is the thickest and the running water of the shower masks the sounds Sungyeol makes, when Woohyun’s fingers trace dangerously close against the inside of Sungyeol’s thigh. But Woohyun can’t shower forever, and Sungyeol _can_ be quiet, if he tries, but Woohyun presses a hand over his mouth anyway as his fingers circle Sungyeol’s dick, and Sungyeol’s tongue is hot against his palm. Woohyun wipes his hand against Sungyeol’s arm, shooting him a look of disgust—Sungyeol grabs Woohyun’s shoulder and pulls him close, his mouth hot as they kiss, and fuck, fuck fuck _fuck_ Woohyun feels like he could come from just this, from just the way Sungyeol uses his mouth, how he’s learned to use his mouth, and he doesn’t know how he keeps it together, how he keeps himself tangled up and cohesive and just conscious enough to know how to touch Sungyeol so he’s whining into him and on the edge and so he feels _good_ but maybe that’s just something he’s learned and can never forget. He’s barely taken Sungyeol into his mouth when there’s fingers pulling at his hair and when Woohyun glances up, still sucking Sungyeol through his orgasm, Sungyeol’s biting his fist to keep from crying out and _fuck_ Woohyun already knows that’s what he’ll be remembering when he touches himself for the next week, at least. But Sungyeol jerks him off rough and fast and Woohyun doesn’t have time to think, doesn’t have time to look before his come spills over both their stomachs, and Woohyun knows he’ll be showering in the morning again, for sure. 

He does, in the morning—this time, alone.

 

 

 

Sunlight floods through the window, because Woohyun forgot to close the blinds, again. It wakes him, the unfamiliar warmth of someone next to him bringing him the rest of the way. The covers are kicked halfway off, because they’re a little too heavy for this kind of late spring, and because Sungyeol might as well be a furnace. His finger brushes against Sungyeol’s skin, not quite sure if he’s real. 

Thin fingers wrap around his wrist, and Woohyun turns his head to see Sungyeol, eyes open, an uncharacteristically soft smile on his face. 

"Awake?" Sungyeol says. His voice is still a little rough, and Woohyun reaches up to brush his hand against Sungyeol’s face, but stops, hand falling against Sungyeol’s arm instead. 

"Yeah," Woohyun says. "Yeah, I am." 

Sungyeol’s hair is mussed, and there’s a faint mark in stark contrast against his pale skin, nestled in the crook of his shoulder. His hair falls messy over his eyes, but it’s Sungyeol who brushes Woohyun’s hair from his face. It’s Sungyeol who rolls over, catching Woohyun’s lips in a slow kiss. 

Woohyun’s heart pounds in his chest. 

Sungyeol kisses him, slow and patient, and Woohyun’s eyes are half open, and Sungyeol’s are closed, and one of his hands is still on his wrist and the other rests against the side of his jaw. He’s so _close_ and Woohyun feels like he can’t breathe, like if he breathes Sungyeol will disappear, Sungyeol will pull away, face twisted in disgust, because Sungyeol has never liked being touched—but Sungyeol is patient (he’s never patient) and Woohyun’s world narrows to the incessant pressure (pleasure) of Sungyeol’s mouth against his. 

It’s like the first time, and it’s nothing like the first time, because the first time had been rough and messy and Woohyun’s hand sliding down Sungyeol’s leg and Sungyeol with his back to the room and everyone sleeping in it and Sungyeol had kissed him desperately, like it was something wrong, like it was a crime to be hidden from the world and it was, it had been, and when Sungyeol had come, Woohyun had pressed his hand over his mouth because Myungsoo— _Myungsoo_ —had stirred and rolled over and Sungyeol couldn’t— _couldn’t_ —wake them. 

But this is the morning sun pouring in through the windows, and Woohyun’s hand rests against the small of Sungyeol’s back, and he catches Sungyeol’s lips between his, and he’s too solid, too warm, too close to not be real.

 

 

 

"Should’ve brought an umbrella," Howon comments. Woohyun shivers lightly as he glances up at the clouds in the dark sky. It’s barely raining, more of a drizzle really. 

"It said nothing about rain," Sungyeol says sullenly. His face is half buried in his scarf, and his hands are deep in his pockets. He needs a haircut, and his ears are pink. 

"Pretty sure it mentioned some precipitation," Woohyun comments mildly. 

"Yeah, _snow_ ," Sungyeol says. "White, fluffy, not wet?" 

"I know what snow is," Woohyun says. 

They’re heading down to the mall to see the new action comedy movie, and Woohyun wishes he’d suggested the subway, because Sungyeol is cranky when he’s wet. Kibum’s checking times on his phone, and to be honest, Woohyun’s a little too cold to deal with Sungyeol right now. He should’ve brought a heavier coat, is what he should’ve brought, never mind the umbrella. 

"You want 3D?" Kibum asks. "Should we grab dinner before or after?" 

"When’s the next showing?" Woohyun asks. He hangs back a few steps and Kibum hands him his phone. 

"Six forty five, seven thirty, take your pick," Kibum says. 

"Six forty five and dinner after," Howon says, then laughs. "If Myungsoo had made it he’d probably want dinner twice." 

"Is that 3D?" Sungyeol asks. He tugs the phone from Woohyun’s hand, scrolling down the screen, all of them huddled around it, as they walk. "Oh, that animal movie’s out too." 

"We could see that next week," Howon suggests. A notification pops up and Kibum takes his phone back from Sungyeol. 

"Hang on, I need to take this," Kibum says—work call, he means. He nods at Howon and Sungyeol. "Get the tickets, we’ll catch up." 

Woohyun glances at the time on his own phone—they were cutting it close, if they wanted to make the six forty five. 

"Sure," Howon says. 

"You can pay for mine," Woohyun tells Sungyeol sweetly. 

"Something you’re not telling us?" Howon wolf whistles, and Sungyeol looks ready to kill Woohyun. 

"Get your own ticket," Sungyeol says. "We’re only getting one extra." 

"Don’t worry, I’ll cover," Howon calls out, as he drags Sungyeol away. 

Woohyun tucks his hands in his pockets as he waits for Kibum to finish up his call. 

"Everything fine?" he asks. 

"Yeah, Amber said she’ll take care of it," he says, putting away his phone. He gives Woohyun a sharp sideways glance—Woohyun’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks at him quizzically. 

"Something on my face?" he asks. 

"It’s him, isn’t it?" 

Woohyun feels his heart drop out of his chest. 

"It’s who?" he says. He begins to walk away, but Kibum grabs his arm, forcing him to slow down, and Woohyun knows he’s not getting out of this one. 

" _It’s who?_ " Kibum echoes in disbelief. He nods down the sidewalk, where Sungyeol and Howon have already disappeared behind the crowds. "You know who!" 

"Can’t say I know Voldemort," Woohyun says lightly. 

"Woohyun, I swear—" 

"Look, we’re just friends, okay?" Woohyun snaps. He pulls away from Kibum and walks faster, but Kibum catches up in a few steps and matches his pace. Not now, not now, not now, he thinks. Small drops of rain hit his skin, linger in his hair. 

"Damn, you weren’t kidding about a lot on your plate," Kibum says quietly. 

"We’re not talking about this," Woohyun says. "Please. Sungyeol’s a friend, that’s it." 

Kibum laughs softly. "Your love sick puppy dog face says something different." 

"I’d rather think of it as a lovable puppy—" 

"Woohyun." 

"Kibum," Woohyun says, matching Kibum’s tone with a mock serious one. 

"I’m serious," Kibum says, and Woohyun’s not getting out of this one. "And why didn’t you tell me? Out of all people…" 

"I’m sorry there’s no good way to say 'hey by the way Sungyeol and I are banging'?" Woohyun’s voice drops into a low hiss. 

"Wait you’re—" From the look on Kibum’s face and his aborted question, he hadn’t even entertained the idea it’d gone that far, that he’d probably thought Woohyun was caught up in some hopeless, empty crush. 

Woohyun wants to laugh, but it gets stuck somewhere between horror and regret. It’d _started_ from that far, and they’d gotten here instead. 

"But you’re just friends," Kibum says flatly. 

"That’s what I said, isn’t it?" The cat's out of the bag, might as well give up the ghost, but Woohyun clings desperately to the last remnants at the bottom of Pandora’s box. Kibum’d caught him off guard, and Woohyun’s always been good on his feet, but he’s not sure anyone’s ready for their best friend to spring their deepest secrets on them. "We’re friends." 

"With benefits?" Kibum asks, and yeah, yes, that’s it, that’s all it is, and Woohyun nods, not trusting himself to speak. After all, they sure as hell weren’t boyfriends, and if not that, then what were they? 

Kibum blows out a long disbelieving breath. "Either you’re lying to yourself or you’re really that stupid, and Nam Woohyun you are the furthest thing from stupid." 

Their conversation has carried them through the crowds and to the entrance of the theater, Woohyun’s pace cutting down the time to nearly half their usual leisurely pace. 

"What do you want me to say?" Woohyun says, voice low as Kibum pushes in close after him through the doors. "Yes, I’m lying to myself, yes, I probably have some disgusting love sick puppy dog face going on, and _yes_ I still have far more feelings than I should?" and this is too much, too many things Kibum didn’t need to know. 

"Hey, what’re you two lovebirds talking about?" Howon yells, and Woohyun blows a kiss at Kibum, and definitely doesn’t look at Sungyeol as he jogs to join their friends. 

Kibum shoots him sharp looks the entire night, as Woohyun drapes an arm around Sungyeol’s shoulders, as Woohyun laughs at Sungyeol’s terrible joke, as Woohyun teases Sungyeol until Sungyeol shoves a handful of popcorn down Woohyun’s shirt. But even Kibum isn’t going to put a damper on the good mood, and no one disagrees when Woohyun invites themselves over to Sungyeol’s place afterwards, because Sungyeol has a PS4 and lives alone. Besides, Woohyun says, he’s pretty sure Sunggyu’d said he had 'someone over' and Woohyun’s fine with giving that 'someone' some space. Howon says next time, but Kibum agrees a little too readily. 

Sungyeol’s hand lingers a little too long on his leg as they ride the subway up, and Woohyun’s breath hitches. The ground is soaked and the air is wet with a long gone storm, and all that’s left is the night chill of an autumn that’s nearly spilled into winter. Drinking games aren’t quite as fun with three people, but they manage, and maybe Woohyun is a little drunker than he really is and even Kibum has to go home, eventually— 

Sungyeol’s hand is on Woohyun’s thigh and Woohyun tangles his fingers in Sungyeol’s hair, and kisses him without warning, but Sungyeol doesn’t need it, not when this is the only thing they’ve been waiting for all night, all evening, all— 

They’re both breathing hard when they pull away, and Sungyeol’s cheeks are flushed from a little more than just the past few minutes. 

"Let’s get you to bed," Woohyun says, because Woohyun might not have been as drunk as he’d seemed, but Sungyeol’s always been a bit of a lightweight. 

"Come here," Sungyeol says, and he tugs Woohyun back down, catches him in another long kiss, and god Woohyun needs him but he pulls Sungyeol to his feet. 

"Bed," Woohyun says firmly. Sungyeol whines, but Sungyeol is also a stick, and it’s too easy to haul him to his room, push him into his bed. He _is_ drunk, because he rolls over onto his side and seems half asleep already, and an ache grows in Woohyun’s chest, but no, not like this, never like this. Not when Sungyeol has room to regret it in the morning. The faint aura of disappointment settles about him, but Sungyeol’s couch isn’t uncomfortable, and he’s slept there before, but as he’s pulling the covers over Sungyeol, Sungyeol grabs his arm, and it catches him by surprise. 

"Where are you going?" Sungyeol asks. 

"Nowhere," Woohyun says. "You’re going to sleep." 

He shakes Sungyeol off, but Sungyeol just wraps an arm about Woohyun’s waist, and Sungyeol is a stick but Sungyeol’s been working out without him, and it’s enough to pull Woohyun onto the bed, tumbling on top of Sungyeol. Sungyeol’s elbow jabs into Woohyun’s stomach, until Sungyeol pulls that arm out and throws that arm around Woohyun too. 

"Sleep with me," Sungyeol says, and he nuzzles into Woohyun’s neck. 

And. Fine. Fine— "Just sleep," Woohyun says, and he means it. 

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he knows he wakes up, half of him cold, the other half blanketed under Sungyeol. It’s still night, not a hint of sun outside the window, and he glances at Sungyeol still asleep. He remembers waking up to an empty bed, but he also remembers waking up to Sungyeol. He slides a little closer to Sungyeol, pulls the covers back over them both, and Sungyeol is warm. 

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he knows he wakes up to Sungyeol staring at him, hair messy, eyes still bleary from sleep. 

"Awake?" Sungyeol says, and his voice is rough and hoarse. 

"Yeah," Woohyun says, and clears his throat. "Sort of." 

This close, Woohyun can see the faint lines of exhaustion about Sungyeol’s eyes, the shadows underneath. He’s lost weight, and Woohyun remembers Sungyeol from university with soft cheeks and a soft stomach but now he’s all sharp angles and he needs more sleep. Sungyeol is closer, and closer, and when Woohyun doesn’t move, Sungyeol’s hand is on his shoulder and he’s kissing Woohyun, wet and sloppy. 

Woohyun’s awake, but only sort of, but he’s okay with this, okay with Sungyeol taking the lead as he slides his hand up Sungyeol’s back, under his shirt. He kisses back lazily, until he’s teasing, and he smiles a smile no one can see when Sungyeol whines, kissing him harder and more desperate. He keeps it slow, his hand creeping up to Sungyeol’s neck, and he runs his fingers through Sungyeol’s hair. Sungyeol’s fingers are bruising against his skin, and he bites down against Woohyun’s lip. Woohyun jerks away, and Sungyeol’s mouth is curled in a self satisfied smirk. 

"You fucker," Woohyun breathes—then crushes Sungyeol to him, and there’s still the faint smell of alcohol, but this close it doesn’t matter, not with Sungyeol’s mouth so hot against his. Sungyeol pulls at his hair, and Woohyun digs his fingers into Sungyeol’s shoulder as he kisses Sungyeol. 

And it feels so _good_ , every bit of it, every bit of him, and from the way Sungyeol rubs against him, he knows it’s good for Sungyeol too. His body is hot, and the blankets tangle between their legs when Woohyun pulls Sungyeol over until they’re both on their sides. 

It seems an eternity when they pull away, Woohyun’s hand lingering fond against Sungyeol’s face, and the slight curl of a smile rests on the corner of Sungyeol’s lips. The world is still gray behind the blinds, but it’s almost winter and the sun rises ever later. 

"Good morning," Woohyun says, and Sungyeol laughs. 

"God, I need coffee," Sungyeol groans as he sits up. 

"Should’ve had more water," Woohyun says. He lies there for a moment more, watches Sungyeol shuffle his way to the edge of the bed. He shucks off his clothes from last night, and Woohyun tears his eyes away from that back, and the already purpling mark he’d left on Sungyeol’s skin. 

"Too late for that," Sungyeol says, and Woohyun gets up too. 

He’s still wearing last night’s clothes, and he yawns as he smoothes down his hair. 

"Do you want a change?" Sungyeol asks him. He’s dressed in a loose tee and pair of shorts, and he nods at Woohyun’s rumpled clothes. 

"It’s alright," Woohyun says, but Sungyeol’s already tossing him a clean shirt and jeans, the ones that actually fit him. 

"You better wash them before you give them back," Sungyeol says, and then he’s disappeared into the bathroom. 

Woohyun changes, because there’s no point not to, and he folds his own clothes and stuffs it in his bag, still tossed onto the floor next to Sungyeol’s couch. His phone is there too, and it’s down to 10% battery, but it’s enough to know it’s not even nine. He wanders into Sungyeol’s kitchen, and fills the kettle. It takes him a few minutes to find the coffee, and by that time, Sungyeol’s out of the bathroom and he grabs the grinder from the counter. 

"What do you want for breakfast?" Sungyeol asks. 

"Just coffee," Woohyun says. "I told Sunggyu I’d do the groceries this week." 

"This early?" Sungyeol asks, surprised. 

"Better early than late," Woohyun says. He leans against the counter as Sungyeol makes a pour over, pushing over Woohyun’s mug before making himself one. Woohyun sips at his coffee, hot, watching the lines of Sungyeol’s arms as he directs the water in a steady stream. The kitchen smells like coffee, and by the time Woohyun leaves, he too smells like coffee.

 

 

 

Sungyeol is sharp elbows and angry glances this morning, and Woohyun remembers this from university, hair stuck up on the wrong side and shirt a little too rumpled from having spent the night under a pile of textbooks. There’s bags under his eyes and the whites of them are more red than anything else, and Woohyun knows that sooner or later he’s going to snap. 

"Eat," Woohyun tells him, shoving the fresh bagels he’d picked up on the way here into Sungyeol’s arms. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"You look like shit," Woohyun says, and it’s probably the wrong thing to say. He sighs, pushes his hair back, shakes his head. "Sorry, I didn’t mean that." 

"You’re not wrong," Sungyeol says sharply. "You didn’t answer my question." 

"You didn’t reply to my texts," Woohyun says. 

"Since when did you care?" 

"Since when did I—look, just eat, alright?" 

Woohyun’s seen this enough to know he hasn’t slept, he hasn’t eaten, at least not properly or regularly, and he’s still in the doorway, Sungyeol’s eyes as sharp as daggers. 

"Call if you need anything," Woohyun says. He leaves before Sungyeol can kick him out. 

"Hm? No, nothing's wrong?" Myungsoo'd said when he'd called, three days after the last time he'd gotten hold of Sungyeol. 

"Never mind," Woohyun had quickly said. "He's probably just busy." 

(He's probably just ignoring me.) 

But Sungyeol shows up at his apartment two days later and he's brought take-out. He doesn't look much better, but Woohyun's learned not to press, because press too hard on anything and it'll inevitably shatter. He hovers on the edge of staying and leaving, but Woohyun's missed him and he sits a little closer to him than he needs to, and rests his hand on his shoulder, on his leg, on his arm until Sungyeol's shrugging him off every few seconds. But Sungyeol does stay, and he does climb into bed with Woohyun. 

He's warm against Woohyun's chest, and in the darkness of Woohyun's room, he doesn't push him away, but nor does he pull him closer. Woohyun fumbles under the covers, blind, for Sungyeol's fingers, clutches both their hands to Sungyeol's chest. Sungyeol's awake, he can tell from his staggered breaths, from the stiffness in his shoulders. 

In the end, Woohyun draws away, and sleeps facing Sungyeol's back. 

There's an unnerving familiarity here, only this time, there's so much more to lose. 

And Sungyeol does call, and 'come over', he says, and that's all the prompting Woohyun needs to grab his coat and his keys and the subway ride over seems longer than usual. Did you need anything, Woohyun had asked, but Sungyeol had said no, just come over, and here he was, Sungyeol kissing him before the door's even closed. 

He's lost weight, not that he ever has much weight to lose, and his bones seem sharper than usual. Woohyun needs to drag him to the gym again, but Sungyeol’s been busy, lately. He leans into Woohyun's touch, but there's a touch of hesitation, a touch of exhaustion, and when Woohyun pulls away, Sungyeol doesn't stop him. 

The light's off, but when Woohyun reaches for the switch, Sungyeol stops him, hand on his. 

"Talk to me," Woohyun says, and it's quiet, because the room is quiet, and the darkness swallows all. 

"It's nothing," Sungyeol says, and Woohyun wants to scream that no, it's not nothing, but that's not Woohyun, and he doesn't. 

"Is it me?" Woohyun asks, and Sungyeol snorts, then stands. 

"Don't flatter yourself," he says. 

"Can I—" 

"No, you can't," Sungyeol says, and Woohyun wonders if Sungyeol means 'no, you can't help,' or 'no, you can't do anything,' or just 'no, you can't', something so broad and overreaching that Woohyun can only sit on the edge of the couch while Sungyeol stands in the middle of the room, a shadow shrouded in shadows. 

"Alright," Woohyun says. The crouch creaks as he comes to stand behind Sungyeol. He hovers, unsure if it's a 'no, you can't touch me,' or 'no, you can't come closer,' but Sungyeol doesn't pull away when Woohyun gathers him to his chest. "Alright, but I'll be here," he says, and suddenly, he wonders if what Sungyeol had meant was 'no, you can't make me feel better, because it _is_ you', and the room's too dark for Woohyun to know which one is the lie.

 

 

 

Winter bowls in without warning, and the city is buried in snow the first week of December. 

It’s cold enough that the snow’s not going anywhere any time soon, but not cold enough that the mid-day sun won’t melt it mid-day, only for it to freeze over during the night. The sidewalks are salted liberally, but by the time evening rolls around, a patch of black ice still pulls Sungyeol’s feet from under him, and he’s lucky he hits the ground back first, not head first, his bag taking the brunt of the fall. 

" _Ice_?" Woohyun laughs, when he shows up some fifteen minutes later, after he calls Woohyun to fend off concerned onlookers. "Really?" 

Sungyeol is sitting on the steps outside the shopping center, and Woohyun reassures the two young women hovering near him that he’ll take Sungyeol to a doctor or the hospital, because it looked like he’d hit his head pretty hard. He’d definitely blacked out for a few moments, they told him in hushed voices. 

"Shut up," Sungyeol grumbles. "It’s not like I could see it." 

"Can you stand?" Woohyun asks. He holds a hand out, and he’s not sure if Sungyeol will take it, but he does. He sways a little unsteadily, but stays on his feet. Sungyeol gingerly brushes the back of his head, his face contorting into pain when he does. Woohyun’s chest constricts, and he grips Sungyeol’s hand tighter. 

"Good thing you can’t get any dumber," Woohyun jokes—but when Sungyeol pulls away to retort, he nearly falls before Woohyun grabs him about the waist. "Okay, we’re going to the doctor." 

"I just hit my head," Sungyeol says, but he doesn’t stop Woohyun from calling a cab. 

There’s not much to do but rest, and like hell he’s letting Sungyeol go home to an empty apartment. He calls Myungsoo, because Myungsoo would’ve killed him if he hadn’t. Myungsoo lives north of the city, but half an hour later he’s at their door. 

"You slipped on _ice_?" Myungsoo laughs as soon as he’s reassured himself that no, Sungyeol hasn’t lost his memories and that yes, other than his wounded pride, he’s alright. 

"You too?" Sungyeol asks in disbelief. "It was dark!" 

"Be more careful," Sunggyu says. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, laptop in front of him. Sungyeol’s become a regular presence in their apartment again, and Sunggyu’s the one who’d suggested Sungyeol stay with them for a few days. 

Woohyun had wanted to stay with Sungyeol for a few days, but he couldn’t say that. 

Sunggyu offers Sungyeol Woohyun’s bed, like it’s perfectly normal to offer up someone else’s bed, but Woohyun would’ve anyway. Woohyun says he’ll take the sleeping bag, but Sungyeol glances at him, and no, Woohyun won’t be using the sleeping bag and they both know it. Myungsoo leaves before the subway stops, promising that yes, he’ll be careful, and yes, he’ll text them when he gets home. 

It isn’t until the lights are off and the door’s closed and Sungyeol’s lying in bed that Woohyun lets loose a shuddering breath. 

"Fuck, you scared me," Woohyun says. He lies down next to Sungyeol, wraps his arms around him, hours of tension draining away, and Sungyeol’s the one who cries easily, not him. 

"I just slipped," Sungyeol says. He pats Woohyun’s arm, and it’s so awkwardly reassuring that Woohyun has to laugh. 

"Your thick skull was good for something," Woohyun says. "Myungsoo was so worried you’d become amnesiac." 

"The first thing I’d forget is you," Sungyeol says. After a moment: "I didn’t mean that." 

"I know." 

"I only called you because you live close." 

"I know." 

"I…" 

"I know," Woohyun says. He places his hand over Sungyeol’s still resting against his arm, still resting over his heart. "I know." 

Sungyeol is still sleeping when Woohyun wakes, but just let him rest, he’d been told. He slips out into the living room, where Sunggyu is already dressed and ready to go. 

"You’re staying home?" Sunggyu asks. 

"Yeah, I’ll let them know I’m working from home and remote in," Woohyun says. "Myungsoo said he’ll take care of things on Sungyeol’s side." 

Sunggyu nods. He pauses by the door, his hand on the door knob. 

"He’s lucky to have friends like you two," he says. 

"Anyone’s lucky to have me," Woohyun laughs. 

He sets up camp on the couch, keeping an eye on Sungyeol through the open door to his room. 

Come get me, Sungyeol had said, when Woohyun had picked up the phone. His words had been slurred, and Woohyun’s heart had dropped. I fell, Sungyeol had said, and that doesn’t make Woohyun feel any better. 

Friends, Woohyun reminds himself. They’re just friends. 

"Woohyun?" 

Sungyeol’s voice is soft from his bedroom. 

Woohyun nearly knocks his laptop onto the floor in his haste to stand. 

"Feeling better?" he asks, walking—walking—to his room. He leans against the doorframe. 

"No," Sungyeol says. "I feel like shit." 

"You look like shit," Woohyun agrees. He doesn’t, not really, just a little tired, tucked under his blankets. 

"Asshole," Sungyeol says. 

"Takes one to know one," Woohyun says. "How’s your head?" 

"It hurts," Sungyeol says, and Sungyeol’s always been straightforward, but this is a straightforward Woohyun’s not used to, a raw sort of straightforward. 

"I’ll get you some Advil," Woohyun says. 

Sungyeol’s drifted back to sleep in the few minutes it takes to find the bottle and pour a cup of water. He’s half on his side, and he’s burrowed deeper into the blankets. Woohyun doesn’t blame him. It’s cold outside. 

He sleeps for the rest of the day, more or less, waking up long enough to take the Advil Woohyun left on his bedside table. 

By the third day, he’s mostly awake, and generally irritable, and Woohyun feels like he could cry from relief. 

"I’m _fine_ ," Sungyeol says. "Stop hovering, you’re worse than my mom." 

"I could always call your mom," Woohyun says—Sungyeol shudders. "See, not worse than your mom." 

"At least she cooks better than you," Sungyeol says. 

"Says the person eating my cooking." 

"Better than nothing," Sungyeol says, but he’s still tired. 

It doesn’t stop him from pulling Woohyun over that night, and Woohyun’s body responds before his mind does. 

"You should—" be resting, Woohyun says, but Sungyeol’s always been a little too reckless, and when Sungyeol kisses him, he kisses back.

 

 

 

The rain is incessant. 

Woohyun knows he must look crazy, standing at the side of the street, no umbrella, soaked. 

But it’s also the middle of the night and it’s raining and this is a side street in the middle of a residential quarter and no one’s crazy enough to be outside, so there’s no one to see him, standing across from the apartment building he’s just left, staring at the light in the window. 

_Is this your idea of comforting me?_ Sungyeol’s face, twisted into a sneer. 

Yes, no, not that— _can’t figure out how to insult me?_ , he’d said, and fucking hell Nam Woohyun what had _that_ been about. Fuck, he hadn’t been able to do anything. Not tonight, not last week, not last month, not ever. He wants to tell himself it’s just because Sungyeol won’t let him in, but that’s not it either, is it? It’s because Woohyun doesn’t know how. Doesn’t know how to comfort him, doesn’t know what to say to him, doesn’t know how to navigate him, doesn’t know how to navigate his anger, instead of making it all worse. Doesn’t know how to not say all the awful things he’d said. 

Sungyeol had been crying. Just before he’d slammed the door, Sungyeol had been crying. 

By the time the rain stops, the sun has nearly risen, and Woohyun knows he should probably go home.

 

 

 

Christmas songs play incessantly on the radio and in stores and in Sungyeol singing them off-tune just to piss Sunggyu off, Woohyun’s pretty sure, until Sunggyu threatens to lock him out of the apartment and never let him back in. 

"Don’t push him, he might actually do it," Woohyun laughs, but that doesn’t stop him from joining in. 

Sunggyu spends a lot of the time out of the apartment anyway, and Sungyeol spends nearly as much time in their apartment as his own. There are the lingering headaches, but Sungyeol really is fine. Sungyeol also doesn’t push him away when Woohyun joins him on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, nor does he shy away from Woohyun’s touches. Woohyun had gone to Sungyeol’s apartment when he’d been out cold to get him a few sets of clothes, and they join a few stray shirts in the bottom drawer that Sungyeol had forgotten here months ago. It makes it easier for Sungyeol to go home with Woohyun after work, instead of to his own apartment. It’s good he doesn’t have a dog, Sungyeol says one day out of the blue, and Woohyun has no clue what he means and tells him as much. 

"Never mind," Sungyeol says, and it’s hard to mind, when Sungyeol has his hand down Woohyun’s pants. 

"I’m in the middle of cooking!" Woohyun laughs and pushes Sungyeol off. 

They don’t get as far as doing the dishes, before Woohyun leans over the back of the couch, leans over Sungyeol’s shoulder, and turns his head for a kiss. 

"I…mmm…was going…to ask you to…do…the dishes," Woohyun says, words murmured against Sungyeol’s lips in brief moments of pause. 

"Stop talking," Sungyeol says. His fingers tangle in Woohyun’s hair, tugging lightly as they twist, his mouth still playing against Woohyun’s. 

"Rich, coming from you," Woohyun says. He lets Sungyeol pull him over, and it’s awkward, hanging half off the couch. He has to push Sungyeol away, laughing, so he can sit up. 

"Didn’t I say to shut up?" Sungyeol says. Woohyun loops his arms around Sungyeol’s neck, smiling into Sungyeol’s kiss. Sungyeol got his hair cut a few days ago, and it’s unfamiliarly short when Woohyun runs his fingers through it. It’ll be Christmas soon, and Woohyun knows that Sungyeol’s going to spend it with his family, three hours west. It’s an uncomfortable angle, leaning backwards, twisted to his left, and he rearranges them, pushing Sungyeol back, working his tongue into his mouth, shifting so he’s kneeling on the couch, straddling Sungyeol’s leg. 

Sungyeol’s fingers twist in his hair, and he moans when Woohyun pushes his knee against his crotch, Sungyeol grinding up shamelessly against him. The sounds he makes rush through his blood, and Woohyun grinds down against Sungyeol’s thigh, his jeans uncomfortably tight. 

God, he’s going to miss this, miss those noises Sungyeol makes when Woohyun kisses him like this, the sloppy way Sungyeol kisses back, whining as he pulls at Woohyun’s hair. He’s so damn _cute_ , even when his lips are wet and swollen, and his eyes are dark as he flips Woohyun onto his back. 

"Easy there," Woohyun murmurs, but he drags Sungyeol down, their legs tangling as he kisses him again, and again. He bends his leg, Sungyeol hard against him. 

"Ahhh…you…" Sungyeol moans, his hands fisting in Woohyun’s hair, "don’t…don’t stop—" 

"Wasn’t planning on it," Woohyun says. He pulls away from Sungyeol’s lips, kissing lightly at the side of his neck. He slides his hand down Sungyeol’s back, Sungyeol arching into the touch, even as he pushes down against Woohyun’s waist. 

Sungyeol comes first, a long, breathy whine, as Woohyun rubs his leg against Sungyeol’s crotch, and Woohyun a minute later, touching himself frantically, Sungyeol hot and heavy on top of him. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, his arm trapped between himself and Sungyeol, Sungyeol’s face buried into his shoulder, the side of his neck, his hair tickling Woohyun’s face. Sungyeol seems to have drifted off to sleep, or that could be Woohyun, but his arm is going painfully numb. 

"I need to do the dishes," he says quietly, tugging his arm free. 

Sungyeol turns his head, and Woohyun brushes his hair out of his eyes. 

"They can wait," Sungyeol says, and settles himself a little more firmly against Woohyun. 

Woohyun’s heart skips, and he swallows it down. 

"Let me put the food away, at least," he says, and he pushes Sungyeol off to the side, sliding off the couch. Sungyeol groans and rolls onto his side, and Woohyun gives him a pat on the head before he heads to the kitchen. 

By the time Woohyun’s cleaned up, Sungyeol seems to have fallen asleep entirely. He sleeps a lot more these days, he’s tired a lot more these days. His chest rises and falls in slow breaths, and his body is too long for the couch, curled up with his legs bent and he still doesn’t fit. His head is pillowed on one arm, and the other is held in front of him, as if holding something invisible to his chest. Woohyun swallows again. 

He doesn’t bother closing the door when he showers, and with his back is turned, he doesn’t realise Sungyeol’s in the bathroom with him until he says, "mind if I join?" 

It’s a credit to himself that he turns around slowly, and Sungyeol’s shadow is behind the frosted glass, the water still so hot that it scalds his skin. A thousand things to say fly through his mind—already?, good morning sleeping beauty, can’t this wait, what the fuck I’m showering here, I’m naked go away, yes, I mind—yes. 

"Nothing I haven’t seen before," Woohyun says wryly, turning the heat down, and Sungyeol chuckles. 

It’s cold, as Woohyun moves aside to give Sungyeol some room, and it’s true, it’s nothing Woohyun hasn’t seen before—but not something he’s seen under bright white fluorescence, open and unabashed, instead of hidden in half shadows and greyed light. And he’s _tall_ —of course he’s tall, he’s always tall, but uninterrupted by the broken lines of clothes, water streaming down from his shoulders to his collar bones, waist, hips, legs—he’s tall. He sticks his head underneath the showerhead, and it courses down his face, hair plastered down, until he shakes it off like a dog, droplets of water hitting Woohyun. 

"You’re done?" he says to Woohyun over his shoulder, and his lips are quirked in that half laugh. 

"Done what?" Woohyun says. 

"Showering," Sungyeol says, and Woohyun takes the half step forward that presses his chest to his back, and wraps his arms around him, skin to skin to skin. 

"Maybe," Woohyun says, and there’s water in his eyes as Sungyeol turns and pushes Woohyun against the shower wall. 

They tumble into bed, clean, dry, hair wet and still dripping, despite the toweling. Woohyun has Sungyeol under him even before Sungyeol’s near, tripping him so he falls heavily on his back against the soft mattress. No clothes, no point, and Woohyun sucks greedy marks against Sungyeol’s skin until Sungyeol is writhing. But Sungyeol is Sungyeol, and Woohyun lets him, eventually, turn their positions. There’s the light in the kitchen, but his room is dim, and Woohyun, briefly, thinks about turning on the lights, because he wishes he could see more clearly the way Sungyeol is looking down on him right now, his hands holding down Woohyun’s shoulders, but then Sungyeol’s mouth is against his, against his neck, his shoulder, his collar bones and it trails down, sucking kisses in its path. He pauses, and it’s Woohyun who’s whining for him not to stop, who hooks a leg around Sungyeol, Sungyeol whose mouth is suddenly hot around Woohyun’s nipple and _shit_ his tongue, his thoughts flee and they stay gone, Sungyeol’s teeth scraping against his hip and— 

Sungyeol has always been impatient, takes Woohyun’s entire length into his mouth, and his fingers grip Sungyeol’s shoulders, then tangle in his hair, pushing him down because Sungyeol’s impatient but he’s also a dick and he pulls back, and Woohyun could swear he’s laughing. 

"Fucking ass," Woohyun breathes, and Sungyeol’s definitely laughing as he catches the head of Woohyun’s cock in his mouth. 

"Mmhmmm," Sungyeol hums, and it’s any guess as to what he means but it travels up his dick and _fuck_ , fuck, when’s the last time Sungyeol’d sucked him off. A half formed quip—finally putting that mouth of yours to good use—but it never makes it off his tongue, he’s so wound up and Sungyeol’s tongue is pressed against the underside of his cock. 

By the time they pull away, sweaty and out of breath, a handspan apart, facing each other on the bed, it’s well into the new day. Woohyun watches as Sungyeol’s eyes fall shut, too heavy with sleepiness to stay open, before he brushes his hair away from his face. He could, he thinks softly, get used to this—again. 

The sun, in the morning, is white and piercing, even through the closed blinds. Sungyeol is still half asleep beside him, but when Woohyun runs his hand down his arm, he turns, and he’s awake. 

"Late night?" Woohyun asks. 

"And whose fault is that?" Sungyeol asks, his words softened by sleep. 

"You want coffee?" Woohyun asks, and he takes Sungyeol’s half hearted nod to mean yes. 

It’s nearly noon, and Sungyeol follows him out some ten minutes later, a white t-shirt and sweatpants. Woohyun debates between breakfast and lunch, but at least the coffee's done by the time Sungyeol stumbles into the kitchen. He’s not Sungyeol, all him and Sunggyu have is one of those cheap black drip makers, half price from one of those back to school sales, who knew how many years ago. Woohyun had meant to get something nicer, last year—but he doesn’t drink enough coffee, and he’d never gotten around to it. Maybe he should. 

Sungyeol moves around the kitchen, and Woohyun makes the rice. There’s bagels in the freezer, but Sungyeol knows that, and he can get it himself, if he wants. Woohyun hums as he looks for leftovers and whatever’s around to throw together for lunch, and it’s a good thing they were planning on doing groceries this afternoon, because there’s really not much around. 

"Here," Sungyeol says at one point, and Woohyun is pleasantly surprised to find Sungyeol shoving a mug of coffee at him. 

"I made enough for two?" Woohyun frowns. 

"Yeah," Sungyeol says, even though Woohyun knows he hadn’t. He doesn’t say that, though, just takes it and smiles into the coffee. 

By the time he finishes putting together a meal, Sungyeol’s disappeared. He finds him on his bed, and Sungyeol opens his eyes when Woohyun walks in. 

"Wow, I must’ve really tired you out last night," Woohyun chuckles. The bed sinks under his weight, and Sungyeol sits up, yawning. He slides over to the side of the bed, and Woohyun catches him by the shoulder. Sungyeol tenses visibly, before he relaxes, and lets Woohyun pull him close. Sungyeol’s still drowsy, despite the coffee, and Woohyun smiles as Sungyeol’s hands are loose around his waist. 

Woohyun presses a soft kiss against Sungyeol’s lips, and when he doesn’t respond, he flicks his tongue out. Sungyeol’s arms tighten around him, and Woohyun traces his hand up Sungyeol’s back as he teases at Sungyeol’s mouth with his tongue. The afternoon sun is piercing, reflecting off ice covered snow on the window sill, and Woohyun closes his eyes against the glare, slowly kissing Sungyeol until he’s pressed up against him. Sungyeol’s hand is pressed against his waist, and Woohyun covers it with his own, his other hand at the nape of Sungyeol’s neck. 

A mark Woohyun had left the previous night is just visible where Sungyeol’s shirt is a little loose, and slides off his shoulder. Woohyun runs a finger over it, and catches the same spot between his lips, and Sungyeol’s fingers dig into his waist as he plays against the skin with his tongue. 

Sungyeol leans back, pulls away, slides away. 

"We should stop," he says. He glances at the door. 

Woohyun frowns. "Sunggyu’s gone until Monday," he says, but when he leans in again, Sungyeol shakes his head. 

"That’s not what I mean," he says, and his eyes don’t meet Woohyun’s. 

His heart goes cold, and Sungyeol’s words hit him like a truck, a torrent of cold water. 

"Then why stop?" Woohyun says, but the words sound hollow to his own ears. 

"I don’t mean now—" Sungyeol says, then shakes his head in frustration. 

"Sungyeol—" 

"No, just…listen to me okay?" and Sungyeol has his hands balled into fists and he’s resolutely not facing Woohyun. "Just…shut up and listen—fuck, I didn’t mean…" 

"Just say it," Woohyun says. He chuckles drily. "I was hoping we weren’t going to talk about this." 

"We should stop, take a step back," Sungyeol repeats, and he’s still not looking at Woohyun, and he swallows. "We never did talk…about it." 

"And whose fault was that?" Woohyun asks, because he remembers this, remembers asking Sungyeol, a country apart, if he wanted to Skype, if he wanted to call, but it was always too late, too early, too busy. 

"I _meant_ to," Sungyeol says quietly, and Woohyun realises he’d said that aloud, his words full of bitterness. 

"I thought you hated me," Woohyun says. 

"What?" Sungyeol’s eyes snap towards him, wide. "Why would I ever?" 

"Well, you did ignore me for three months," Woohyun says. 

"I don’t…I don’t _hate_ you," Sungyeol says. He looks at his hands. His voice goes so quiet, Woohyun can barely hear him. "You’re the one who should hate me." 

Woohyun blows out a puff of frustration. "What does that have to do with any of _this_?" he says. "It’s been a _year_ , it’s a bit too late for this, isn’t it?" 

"Everything! It has everything to do with it—we’re not boyfriends, alright? We’re not dating, we stopped!" 

I know, I know, I know, pounds in Woohyun’s head. 

"It’s just _sex_ ," Woohyun says. "We don’t need to be dating for—" 

"But it’s not, is it?" Sungyeol says, and there’s already the faint trace of red in his eyes. "Not for you." 

"What…" 

"You’d have to be blind—I’m not, we’re not dating, we’re not going to, and it’s _not_ just sex for you! You have feelings, and I don’t want to hurt those feelings!" Sungyeol’s voice builds up into a note of hysteria, and Woohyun clutches the sheets between his fingers. 

"So what if I have feelings?" he says flatly. 

"Look, I’m going to find some nice girl, settle down, maybe you are too, we can’t _do_ this," Sungyeol says, and yeah, it’s slightly hysterical now, and Woohyun’s chest is so tight it feels like he’s the one crushing it in his own fist. "We need to stop, you need to stop—" 

"So you’re just going to decide for us? For me?" 

"Yeah! Yeah, I am, because I don’t want to hurt you again!" 

"And what if—" He stops, because his phone is ringing. Woohyun bites at his lip, and takes a deep breath, because even though it feels like he can’t breathe, he’s breathing hard. He stares at Sungyeol, and Sungyeol’s cheeks are pink, and he’s breathing hard too, but not because they’ve just pulled away from each other after tangling on the couch. (But maybe they’re pulling away from each other in another way, the same way, a different way.) The phone stops, and in the silence, his heart is loud in his own ears. His blood rushes through him, and fire prickles at his skin. A moment, and then it starts ringing again. 

"I need to take this," Woohyun says hollowly. He stands, leaving Sungyeol sitting alone on the bed, staring at his hands, at the floor. 

It’s his mom, and he waits until he’s out of the room, before he picks up. 

"Mom? Isn’t this too early for you—oh, right, it’s afternoon already, I just woke up late, no, you didn’t wake me up, I was just in the bathroom." Woohyun wasn’t, but he is in the bathroom now, and he pulls the door shut behind him, sinking down to the floor, leaning against it. A faint sliver of light glints off the glass of the shower. 

"Have you had a chance to think about it?" his mom asks, and Woohyun drags his hand down his face. "I don’t mean to push you, but if you’ve already made a decision…" 

"It’s a pretty big decision," Woohyun says, and he laughs a little. "I have been thinking about it a lot." 

"Would it help if we talked about it? I know you talked about it with your dad too, he said that you were thinking about it—Woohyun, if you did move with us, your grandma would be so happy," his mom says, and she sounds so hopeful that Woohyun wonders if yes, yes he could just throw away everything here, tear himself out of this life and build up a new one, how hard could it be? 

But: "I don’t know, mom," he says. "Korea’s very far away, much further away than California." 

"Of course, that’s why," his mom says. 

"But it’s like dad said—if I moved with you to Korea, it’ll be hard for me, but I _do_ want to see everyone more." Woohyun settles himself a little more comfortably against the cold tile. 

"That’s right, will you be visiting soon?" 

"California or Korea?" Woohyun asks. 

"Here, silly," his mom says. "It’d be a shame if you never saw this place before we left. It’s so warm and the weather’s so nice—I’ve shown you the pictures, you can see the ocean from the bedroom!" 

"When are you leaving?" Woohyun asks. 

"April or May," she says, and that makes sense, but it’s so soon, and he’s only had a month—two months, more than that—to think about it, and... 

"If I go," he says slowly, "when should I know? When should I…decide?" 

"Oh, my child, are you thinking about it?" 

"I don’t know, mom," he says. "I mean, I am thinking about it, I just don’t know if…" he laughs a little drily. 

"February," she says, "let’s say February, but there’s no rush, you don’t need to ride on a plane with us. You’re much older now." 

There’s a sound on the other side of the door, and Woohyun swallows. 

(When it rains, it pours.) 

"Can we talk later?" he says. "My friend is here—Sungyeol, from university—I think he’s getting a little impatient." 

His mom laughs, and he misses her so much, so, so, much. He should tell her they should Skype, after. He wants to see her so much. 

"Of course," she says. "Go have fun. You know I love you so much, right?" 

"Me too," he says, and eventually, he does have to hang up. He sits with the silence for a few moments, phone warm in his hand. But Sungyeol is still on the other side of the door, and eventually, he does have to stand, and eventually, he does have to face Sungyeol. Face himself. 

But: 

"You’re moving to Korea?" 

Sungyeol is standing just outside the door, and his hand is on the wall, and his face is the very picture of surprise. 

"Didn’t someone tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?" Woohyun says. 

"You’re _moving to Korea_?" 

"I don’t know," Woohyun says. "Can we talk about this later?" 

"You’ve never lived in Korea," Sungyeol says, and his brows are furrowed in maybe it’s worry, if Woohyun squints. 

"I moved here from Korea," Woohyun points out—when he was seven, but he still had—"and I said, I don’t know, I’m not sure." 

"When?" 

"I just said I don’t know, didn’t I?" Woohyun snaps. He pushes past Sungyeol and his outstretched arm. He looks at his bedroom, and then at the couch. The smell of fresh cooked rice floats out from the kitchen, and Woohyun slips his phone into his pocket. 

"We had a conversation to finish," Woohyun says. It sounds tired even to his own ears. A conversation a year late. 

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Sungyeol says, and his voice is accusatory, and Woohyun laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"You’re kidding, right?" Woohyun turns, snorting. Like you told me? "Why would I tell _you_?" 

"Because…because we’re _friends_ ," Sungyeol says. 

"Are we?" Woohyun says, quietly. "I don’t know what you want us to be anymore." 

"Friends," Sungyeol says. "I want us to be friends, don’t you get it?" 

"I did say that, didn’t I? I get it, we’re friends—you never said why, you just—" Woohyun shakes his head in frustration. He runs his hands through his hair, paces to the couch, leans his hands against it. "I really thought you hated me, you know? Or you got tired of me, you wouldn’t be the first—" 

"It’s because I’m not good for you! Because all I’m ever going to do is hurt you, because I’m a dick, alright? I… Fucking hell, Woohyun, I _punched you in the face_." 

"That was just once—" 

"Are you listening to yourself?" 

"So what, you lost your temper, call me when there’s real news—Sungyeol, I barely _remember_ that." 

"Then maybe—maybe I just don’t like you that way," Sungyeol says—like he’s trying to convince himself, and it’s so petulant, that Woohyun has to laugh. He whirls, and Sungyeol’s standing in the middle of his living room, and he’s so awkward and tall and not out of place enough. He’s standing there, and Woohyun has never more wanted to punch someone before, never wanted to punch Sungyeol more, not even when he belittled him in front of an entire class of his students. 

"'Thank you for being born,'" Woohyun murmurs to himself. He lets out a deep breath, and he turns around again, because he can’t meet Sungyeol’s eyes that aren’t meeting his at all. "You remember saying that? And I laughed because that’s cheesier than anything I ever said?" 

"That was you!" Sungyeol says. "I just…said it back!" 

"You meant it though, and it wasn’t as friends," Woohyun says. "That time, I really thought that…" 

Woohyun trails off, because for brief moments, he’s been thinking that again, when they were leaning against each other on the couch, when Sungyeol had his arms around Woohyun as Woohyun did the dishes, when Sungyeol would look at him, after, with eyes that could’ve melted Woohyun’s heart a thousand times over. 

"I _punched_ you," Sungyeol says again, then he growls in frustration. "Fine, I do like you, okay? And you deserve someone better!" 

"And you get to decide who that is? You say my ego’s big? What about yours?" 

"I’m trying to be serious—" 

"And so am I?" 

"So just listen to what I’m saying, damn it!" 

Woohyun scoffs. "I am listening to you, and guess what, you don’t get to decide my 'feelings'. I’m the only one who gets to decide if they’re hurt or—" 

"But I don’t _want_ to hurt you, you—" 

"What name are you going to call me now?" Woohyun asks, because he’s turned and Sungyeol has that look on his face. "Listen to me, Lee Sungyeol, what do you want? Forget if I get hurt or not, forget—" 

"I can’t, you asshole! That’s the whole point—you don’t get it, I already hurt you, didn’t I? What if I had hated you? What if I _wanted_ to hurt you?" Sungyeol spits the words out, as if they're poison against his tongue. "You want to do that again?" 

"Sungyeol—" 

"Maybe I’m just not ready, maybe I can’t do this whole relationship thing, and I’m just not good for you!" 

"Does it matter? I don’t, I just—you’re not ready, alright, you don’t think you’re good for me, fine, but what if I want to be good for you? Are you saying I’m not, I can’t do that?" 

"Of course not, I’m saying—" 

"Then what’s the problem? What if that’s what I want?" Woohyun says, but he knows the problem, and the problem is that he’s the one being selfish—he knows that Sungyeol might be all barbs and thorns on the outside, but that, yeah, he’s right. It couldn’t have lasted, and one day Sungyeol’s going to say, again, let’s stop, and Woohyun will feel his heart crumple into itself, like it had last winter, and like it’s doing right now, and like it had every time Sungyeol had locked him out of his life, and he’s right. 

He’s right, because Woohyun takes things to heart, and so does Sungyeol, and he’s being selfish because he knows that Sungyeol knows that and every time, it’s Sungyeol who gets hurt too. But right now—right now, he wants to be selfish. 

"But what if that’s not what I want?" Sungyeol asks. "What if I really just want to stop?" 

"Which part?" Woohyun asks, and Sungyeol’s eyes have dropped again. "Me, or 'hurting' me?" 

Sungyeol hesitates. "You," he says softly, but he still doesn’t meet Woohyun’s eyes. 

"Don’t lie to me," Woohyun says. "Don’t lie to yourself." 

"I’m _not_ ," Sungyeol says, but he’s always been a terrible liar, and he’s always been an open book, and he knows this too. 

"You don’t want to stop," Woohyun says slowly. "But you don’t want to hurt my feelings." 

"Not everything has to have feelings attached," Sungyeol says. He sits, folding his legs in front of him. "Only if…only if you promise that." 

"I can’t, Sungyeol," Woohyun says, and he knows that he should lie, here, but he’s never been a good liar either. No, he’s always been a good liar, he’s just never been good at lying. 

"You know I can’t," Woohyun adds, several beats later. 

"Then I don’t," Sungyeol says. "I don’t want it. See, it’s not just sex. For you." 

"I can’t," Woohyun pushes on, and Sungyeol’s speaking into his knees, his voice thick, and Woohyun’s speaking to the crown of his head, "but pretend that I can. Please, Sungyeol—I don’t want to stop, I don’t…I don’t want to go back." 

He wants to sit next to him, wants to wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him close, but that’s not what Sungyeol wants, he’s sure about that. (Then why, if he knows that’s not what Sungyeol wants, does he want this—because, in a way, Sungyeol does want this, and he knows that too.) 

Woohyun laughs drily. "I’ll get hurt either way, right? So at least let me get hurt and not regret anything." 

"What if you do regret it?" Sungyeol says. 

Woohyun takes a step back, and a deep breath. They tease Sungyeol, calling him a kid, and he’s not, but right now, he reminds him of one. He reminds him of a kid, lost in the mall, and he doesn’t know where to start looking for someone he knows. 

"I told you, didn’t I? Regret or not, hurt or not, that’s not for you to decide. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do—but if you want to do something that I want to do…" Woohyun breathes out, sucks in air, and when he breathes out again, it’s a shuddering breath that comes dangerously close to something he doesn’t want to admit, and he sits as well, because his legs feel like they’re going to give out under him. "I don’t want to step back, Sungyeol, and if you want this, if you want to do this without feelings, then let’s do that. I’m fine with that." 

"Even if I punch you again?" 

"I’d rather not," Woohyun says, "unless I really deserve it again. I don’t _care_ , Yeol, it’s just sex, right?" 

"But I care, I don’t want…" to hurt you, he’s going to say, but Woohyun’s heard that enough, and he knows that enough, and he’s selfish, he’s so selfish. 

"Let me pretend," he says. 

"What if there’s some girl?" Sungyeol says. 

"So you’re saying you don’t want to hurt me, but you don’t mind hurting her?" Woohyun asks, amused. 

"No, I’m just saying that—" 

"Do you have some girl?" Woohyun asks, cutting off Sungyeol’s frustration. 

"You’d know if I did," Sungyeol glowers, and he finally raises his head, furiously wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

He could get him tissues, or a roll of toilet paper because they don’t have tissues, but Woohyun just pulls his knees to his chest in a mirror image. "I always was the one who wanted this," Woohyun says. Sungyeol glances up in surprise, and Woohyun feels his lips stretch in a half smile. "You told me you weren’t sure if you were ready for commitment, and I told you we’d play it by ear—so last winter, now, it’s not you. Stop kicking yourself over it—I know you are, I know you well enough for that." 

"I could say the same," Sungyeol says, and it’s horribly choked. 

Woohyun swallows, and stands. The rice is done. "Let’s eat," he says. "It’s getting late." 

"Yeah," Sungyeol says, and he hears Sungyeol stand as well, behind him. 

"Want to go play billiards after?" Woohyun asks. "See if Myungsoo’s up for coming downtown." 

"Yeah," Sungyeol says, and Woohyun doesn’t know if he wants to know what his answer is.

 

 

 

A cold spray mists against their faces, splashing inwards from the wall of water in front of them. The day is threatening rain, but it’s humid and hot and sticky and Sungyeol just laughs with glee as he drags Woohyun up against the railing. Children shriek with delight as they do the same, pulling unwilling parents along, families posing for pictures, covered in thin plastic raincoats, toddlers hanging back as their older siblings encourage them forward. The light that filters in through the falls dances off the spray carried in with it. 

"I’m wearing a white shirt!" Woohyun protests. 

"That’s even better!" Sungyeol says, voice raised to make himself heard as the torrential fall crashes through air and against the river below. 

"Why didn’t you let us put on the ponchos again?" Woohyun says, but Sungyeol is leaning over the railing, head and hands reaching as close to the waterfall as he can. Droplets of water drip down from the ends of his hair, and it glistens against his face. His wide mouthed laughter is contagious, and his shirt is quickly going from damp to straight up wet. Woohyun snorts, shaking his head fondly. 

"Say cheese!" Woohyun says, snapping a picture before Sungyeol turns, then catching another as Sungyeol’s head whips around, eyes wide. 

"You could’ve warned me," he complains, but in the next moment, he has an arm around Woohyun’s shoulders, and takes a picture of the both of them with his phone. 

Sungyeol’s hair is soaked, and the water drips against Woohyun’s face. On the screen, Sungyeol’s free hand, held up in a V, blocks half of Woohyun’s face. 

"You can’t even see me!" Woohyun points out—then freezes, because Sungyeol on the screen has turned his head, and Sungyeol next to him—his lips brush against Woohyun’s cheek. 

"You could’ve warned me," Woohyun says, after he gets over the surprise. He’s looking at Sungyeol, but Sungyeol’s phone is still held up at an angle, and later, Woohyun will see himself, smiling at Sungyeol with a far too sappy look on his face. His shirt _is_ wet, and his shoulder, soaked from Sungyeol leaning against him, shows through the white fabric, translucent. Droplets of water catch against his lashes, and his eyes are curled in fondness. But right now, he pulls away from Sungyeol in mock annoyance. "Jeez, you’re so wet!" 

"That just means you’re not wet enough," Sungyeol says, and the quirk of his eyebrows is telling enough. 

"Come on," Woohyun says, tugging Sungyeol away to give other people a chance to take pictures behind the falls. "You still want ice cream?" 

"Can we go to the lower deck again?" Sungyeol says, and he means the one where the falls roar the loudest, and where it might as well _be_ raining, with how much water it throws up. Woohyun shivers from the thought, but he grabs Sungyeol’s hand and leads him down the tunnels hewn into the rock. He laces their fingers together, and Sungyeol squeezes his hand back.

 

Woohyun’s _pissed_ , and he shouldn’t be, but he’s had it, he’s done with Sungyeol ignoring his texts, ignoring his calls, ignoring his fucking concern when he’s so obviously _miserable_. He’s done with Sungyeol putting on that shitty happy face he’s terrible at, that Myungsoo sees through just as well, that almost everyone sees through, but then when he’s with Woohyun, he doesn’t even try—and maybe Woohyun should be flattered, if Sungyeol would only _look_ at him. 

"You really are a piece of shit, you know that?" Woohyun snarls. "Get over yourself, get over whatever ridiculous self pity party you’re throwing yourself! I just asked what’s up with your mood, so stop acting like a three year old throwing a tantrum!" 

"And I said I didn’t want to talk about it, alright?" and Sungyeol’s jaw is set, teeth gritted. 

"My baby nephew is more reasonable than you are," Woohyun goads, and there’s a flash of anger in Sungyeol’s eyes, and a twisted flash of satisfaction in Woohyun’s chest.

 

The first time Woohyun sees Sungyeol, he barely remembers him, because he’s too busy projecting an air of self confidence he doesn’t feel. 

The first time Woohyun sees Sungyeol as Sungyeol, and not bratty kid in the first and only class he ever teaches, is when Sungyeol’s laughing, head thrown back, mouth stretched unattractively, as his friend tells him a horrible joke, and they’ve been studying together for months now—his heart flips. 

(He won’t recognise the moment for what it was until months later. But maybe it was never Sungyeol. Maybe it was always the image of Sungyeol.)

 

 

 

Sungyeol returns from his parents' after New Year's, and Woohyun hasn’t spoken to him since he left after billiards, that day. 

He video calls his parents, and his brother, and his grandparents, and after, he gets into the shower and lets the water stream down his face, washing it all away. Woohyun spends Christmas with Myungsoo’s family, and they feed him well, like they always do, and they call him charming and he tells them that Myungsoo is lucky to have such a wonderful family. Kibum goes on vacation with a couple friends of his from university, and the office is echoingly empty in those days between Christmas and New Years, as they always are. 

The streets are crowded and excited as he walks home from work, the day after Christmas. He takes a detour north to the main street, and walks along the window displays, strung bright with lights and festively decorated mannequins. He walks past the intersection where Sungyeol had fallen, the concrete building housing the department store with the steps, and the big library’s a bit further down the world’s longest street, and the glass windows of the bank across the street reflect the crowds that surge through the intersection, when the lights stop the cars and open up the streets for the pedestrians. Woohyun lingers before he continues onwards, past the fancy hotels, the bookstore, the Gucci and the Hermes and the rest of the stores for clientele with far more cash to throw around than he’ll probably ever have. The museum to his left stands in all its crystal glory, shards of some glass spaceship growing out of the stately stone building below. The buildings grow into a mix of brick and glass, the school across the street a remnant of the early 1900s with its stone columns and rounded front. His mind wanders, as he pushes alone through the crowds. It’s not a cold day, and it draws people out into the late afternoon. It’s only when it lets up, does he realise he’s at the subway station—Sungyeol’s station. It was a white Christmas, and the park across the street is filled with children’s delighted shrieks, flying down the flattest parts of the steep hill in plastic sleds. It’s getting late—he gets on the subway, and rides it all the way home. 

"Please make up with Sungyeol before you make my life miserable." Sunggyu corners him a few days into the new year. 

"What?" 

"Sungyeol isn’t nearly as quiet as he thinks he is," Sunggyu says darkly. "And neither are you." 

"Wait _what_?" 

"What I’m saying is, take care of whatever this cloud you have is about—I’d rather have the two of you singing shitty Christmas carols," Sunggyu says, and leaves Woohyun standing in the kitchen, too shocked to retort that Christmas carols were a perfectly apt representation of love and joy. 

His brother messages him one day—are you coming? he wants to know, and Woohyun asks if he’s awake to talk. 

"Are you really going to? Mom thinks you are," he says. 

"What would you do, hyung?" 

"Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?" 

"Yeah, but that was _high school_ —I have a job, friends…" 

"I had friends too," his brother points out. There’s a long pause. "I know, it’s not the same at all." 

"I don’t…" Woohyun hesitates, his teeth catching on his lip. "I don’t think I’d fit in." 

"You? You’ve always been the good one at fitting in," his brother says. 

"Fake it until you make it," Woohyun chuckles. And then: "I’ve spent too much time here to ever be truly Korean." 

"That doesn’t make any sense," his brother says, and then, quietly: "but you’ll never be truly anything," and Woohyun remembers his brother saying that years ago, and not knowing what he’d meant. He thinks he knows, a little, now. 

"Thanks, hyung. I guess I’d rather think of it as being a bit of everything." 

But still, the image of home beckons. A home he doesn’t remember, a home that hasn’t been his for as long as he can remember, except for visits over the summer that became increasingly sparse as he’d grown older, and as he began spending summers with friends and things that’d look good on his resume. And then he was working, or he was taking classes, and it becomes relegated to a week here and there, every few years—last year was the longest since he’d been in middle school, and he’d been painfully aware of the differences in his clothes, in his speech, in the smallest ways of thinking and habits. But still. 

(It’s a nostalgia that’s never been his, but he clings to it nevertheless.) 

They run into each other one day, Woohyun leaving the hair salon, Sungyeol carrying take-out. 

"Hey," Woohyun says. 

"Hey." 

"How were your holidays?" 

"They were alright. You?" 

"Sungyeol, about last time—" 

"It’s fine," Sungyeol says. "Let’s just pretend it never happened." 

Woohyun snorts, shaking his head. "It doesn’t work like that," he says. And then: "you think there’s enough there for the two of us?" 

Sungyeol looks at the take-out container he’s holding, and then back at Woohyun. "Probably," he says, and Woohyun takes that as a yes—and Sungyeol takes that as a yes. 

The door hasn’t even closed before Woohyun’s pushing Sungyeol up against it, and it clicks shut with a sudden stop. Woohyun tangles his fingers in Sungyeol’s hair, and it’s a song that’s been played too many times, kissing him hungrily, like it’s been a year instead of a month. Bad life decisions, he thinks, but it’s hard to when he’s pressed his leg against Sungyeol, and Sungyeol is grinding up against him. It’s been a month, but Woohyun has never felt more desperate, and he fumbles with the buttons on Sungyeol’s coat, before he gives up and fumbles with the button on Sungyeol’s jeans. Sungyeol moans at the touch, and his fingers push away Woohyun’s, finishing the job much sooner. Woohyun mouths at Sungyeol’s neck, but his hand’s already down Sungyeol’s pants. 

"Shit—cold," Sungyeol hisses. Woohyun wraps his fingers around Sungyeol’s dick, and he ignores Sungyeol’s fingers digging into the back of his neck. Hurts like hell, but Sungyeol’s always been like that, just like how he ruts up into Woohyun’s hand anyway, and he’s hot and heavy and Woohyun will never get tired of the sounds Sungyeol makes, the one that says don’t stop, the one that says faster, the one that says please, please, please, without any words at all. 

Sungyeol comes into his hand, and Woohyun works him through it, until Sungyeol leans against him, spent. Lazily, slowly, he does the same for Woohyun, until they’re both boneless and loose. 

It’s not quite enough for two, because Sungyeol hadn’t gotten enough for two. 

A song with a chorus played too many times, Sungyeol joining him after he showers—he’d let Woohyun go first, citing work he had to tie up—in his bed. 

The lights are off, but it’s better that way, Sungyeol running his hands along Woohyun’s body, his fingers thin and cool. They catch on the ridges of his spine, until it cups the back of Woohyun’s neck. Sungyeol’s mouth is hot against his, and his body is hot against him, even though the water still damp in Sungyeol’s hair is cool against him. The heat floods his body, floods his mind, and Sungyeol’s hard against his thigh, and Woohyun wonders why he’d bothered getting dressed after his shower at all. 

(Woohyun had too, because Woohyun knows not to hope.) 

Sungyeol’s lips are wet and slick when Woohyun draws back just enough to take a deep breath, because they both need it, and his eyes shine in the darkness. This time, Woohyun uses a bit more teeth than necessary, and there’s a quiet hiss as Sungyeol pulls away, and Woohyun’s shoulders shake in quick laughter. His face is flushed—Woohyun’s own chest is tight, and his head is already dizzy with a need for air. Sungyeol’s fingers dig into Woohyun’s shoulder, and in one quick moment, Sungyeol has Woohyun pressed back against the bed, his head scraping against the wall. He’s staring down at him, and Woohyun pulls him down—Sungyeol kisses him hungrily, and Woohyun whines, grinding up against Sungyeol, but Sungyeol has one knee on him, and Woohyun has only empty air. 

His tongue is in his mouth, exploring it as if he’s never done this before. Sungyeol’s hand runs down his arm, and then against his chest, his thumb teasing him where he’s most sensitive. Woohyun needs to _breathe_ but Sungyeol holds him down, even as he tries to pull away for air. Sungyeol smells of shampoo, and he’s so hot against him, and Sungyeol’s fingers bruise against his shoulder—Woohyun shoves, really shoves, gasping. 

Sungyeol’s chest is heaving, and Woohyun’s is too. 

"You dick," Woohyun breathes. 

"I know," Sungyeol says, and then his mouth is at the side of Woohyun’s neck, kissing greedy marks into his skin until Woohyun is writhing, and he wishes he could turn the light on because he wishes he could see more clearly the way Sungyeol is looking down on him right now, his hands holding down Woohyun’s shoulders. Woohyun wraps an arm around Sungyeol’s neck, pulls up close enough to suck at the crook of his neck, and god, the sounds Sungyeol makes, and he closes his teeth lightly over it, and he knows it’ll leave a mark. Sungyeol pulls away, gasping, and Woohyun’s breath hitches as Sungyeol presses himself against him, and his tongue is wet and hot against Woohyun’s skin. 

Woohyun’s hands roam Sungyeol’s body, and Sungyeol whines at the touch, whines for more, and Woohyun obliges. Sungyeol grinds against his leg, and Sungyeol is so warm and solid. And then he’s pushing his knee between Woohyun’s legs and Woohyun whines in surprise, and Sungyeol does it again, and again, his mouth still hot against his, and his fingers clench about Sungyeol’s shoulders and he pushes him away, because he wants to so badly, but he wants this to last. 

He knows he’s wet, and it’s absurd how wet he is, and he can feel it against the fabric of his underwear. He brings his hand down, palms Sungyeol, and Sungyeol is too—Sungyeol sucks in a sharp breath, and Woohyun wraps his fingers around the bulge and squeezes just once, just enough for Sungyeol to buck up against him, but not enough for anything more. 

The dark light of a city half asleep is filtering in through the window, and it’s all that he can see Sungyeol by, when he opens his eyes, sees Sungyeol with his face buried in his shoulder, and Woohyun kisses at his jaw, trailing up, tongue flickering against his ear, catching his piercings in his mouth, and Sungyeol’s fingers tighten against him. He plays with it, until the cold metal is warm and hot and Sungyeol’s trying to push up against him but Woohyun holds him down, hand on his hip, and Woohyun doesn’t know how he keeps it together, how he keeps himself tangled up and cohesive and just conscious enough to know how to touch Sungyeol so he’s whining into him and on the edge and so he feels _good_ , but maybe that’s just something he’s learned and can never forget, like riding a bike or breathing underwater. 

Sungyeol pulls away, and he’s flushed hot, and he draws back just enough for Woohyun to see the want gleaming in his eyes, and Woohyun leans up, catches Sungyeol in a quick kiss, but Sungyeol has other ideas. 

He pushes Woohyun down, his mouth against his, his neck, his shoulder, his collar bones, trailing kisses down his body and Woohyun hooks a leg around Sungyeol, begging him not to stop. He pauses, and Sungyeol’s mouth is suddenly hot around Woohyun’s nipple and _shit_ , his tongue—his thoughts flee and they stay gone, Sungyeol’s teeth scraping against his hip, and— 

shit, his tongue plays at the head of Woohyun’s cock, teasing at the slit. Woohyun’s fingers tangle into Sungyeol’s hair, twisting it, until Sungyeol whines and reaches up with one hand, closing his fingers around Woohyun’s wrist, but his lips close around just the tip, and Woohyun has to bite back his moan. 

"There’s no one here," Sungyeol murmurs against him. "Let me hear you," and Woohyun does, because it’s so hard not to, and in this moment, he wants Sungyeol to, just as much and he can’t remember the last time he’s been this loud, and Sungyeol drags it out of him, tongue pressing against the underside of his cock, and Woohyun bucks up into his mouth, pulling him so close that Sungyeol gags. 

"Fucking ass," Sungyeol breathes, as soon as he manages to pull away, and Woohyun laughs a breathy laugh, but it turns into something much more wanton, because his dick is in Sungyeol’s mouth, and his world explodes. 

 

Woohyun wakes to the unmistakable smell of coffee, rich and earthy, and the half of a bed long since empty, judging from how cool the covers are. He lies there for a moment, and then another. It’s still early in the morning, and the sky is overcast, the light that filters in grey. It’ll snow today, the weather forecast had said, but it seems uncertain if it’s two centimeters or ten. 

He hesitates, but he can’t stay there forever, curled up under Sungyeol’s blankets, in Sungyeol’s bed. He sits up silently, the blood rushing from his head, his vision darkening for a moment, before Sungyeol’s room is brought back into sharp focus. The carpet is soft against his feet, and Woohyun gets dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing last night, neatly folded in the corner of the room. He tosses the clothes he’d slept in into Sungyeol’s laundry bin. A thought crosses his mind—he crouches down, pulls open the bottom drawer, and smiles when he sees his old clothes there. He pushes it shut, as quietly as he can. 

"Good morning," he says, as he walks to the kitchen. 

Sungyeol turns, eyes sharp, and Woohyun’s heart plummets—but then he breaks into a smile. "Took you long enough," he says. "The coffee’s nearly cold." 

"That’s what microwaves are for," Woohyun says, and Sungyeol snorts in contempt. 

There’s the clear attempts of breakfast on the counter, and Woohyun stifles a laugh. He reaches for the messy plate of pancakes, but Sungyeol hastily slaps his hand away. 

"I mixed up the salt and sugar," he says sheepishly. "Let’s just have toast." 

"Fine with me," Woohyun says. He reaches for his cup, the same one he always uses when he’s here. It matches Sungyeol’s, a little, and Woohyun’s always liked that. 

The snow’s started outside, sparse flakes, barely noticeable. It lends a spark to the otherwise grey melancholy of a cold winter day, and Woohyun wanders to the window, coffee in hand. Sungyeol follows him, the bread in the toaster. 

"You forgot your umbrella here," he says—what umbrella, Woohyun says, but Sungyeol nods towards a black umbrella, folded and leaning against the wall near the door, and oh, that umbrella. 

"I thought you’d stolen it," Woohyun jokes, and Sungyeol glowers at him. 

Woohyun washes his mug after breakfast, and Sungyeol sees him to the door. It’s cold, and Woohyun wraps his scarf tightly about him, until it covers the bottom half of his face. 

"See you later," Sungyeol says, as Woohyun opens the door. 

"Yeah," Woohyun says. He pauses, and Sungyeol’s hand is awkward at his side. "You’re coming for my birthday thing next week?" 

"Sure," Sungyeol says, and then he grins. "Don’t expect a present, though." 

"I never expect anything," Woohyun laughs, and when he walks outside, across the street from an apartment building he’s just left, he thinks there’s a flutter of movement by the window. 

It’s snowing, and Woohyun’s holding a black umbrella. He knows he looks ridiculous, but he props it open anyway, trailing footsteps in the snow.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for your friendship that has made my life so much richer—i've never regretted a single moment. and thank you to my dearest meimei, who's held your useless jiejie's hand through every step of this, for far more than only this fic.
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
>  location notes:   
>    
>  The fic generally happens along two main streets: Bloor, between approximately Church St and Christie; Yonge, from Bloor, down to Eatons center, or Yonge-Dundas square. Other locations: the university they attend is Waterloo, Sungyeol's family has since moved to London, Ontario, Myungsoo lives about a ten minute drive from Downsview station, and after Woohyun turns 25 but before Sungyeol has, they rent a car and drive down to Niagara Falls--the scene occurs behind the Falls.
> 
>  
> 
>   
>  More detailed location notes [here](http://supportingly.livejournal.com/625.html).  
> 


End file.
